


Murder at McKinley

by Leaper



Category: Glee, Murder She Wrote
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Glee Crossover Big Bang, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaper/pseuds/Leaper
Summary: Jessica Fletcher visits the family of Debra Karofsky, daughter of an old friend, in Lima, Ohio. When she and another student of McKinley High discover a teacher murdered in his classroom, she finds herself corralling an entire group of teenage amateur detectives in her search for a killer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this Big Bang, yes I did. However, I didn't realize how nerve wracking writing a mystery can be, when you have no idea how difficult or easy you're making the case! No wonder so few people write solvable whodunnits anymore!
> 
> But in the name of my literary preferences and my love of Murder, She Wrote, I did my best. Hope it's challenging enough for you all!

"You shouldn't be calling."

"You know why I—"

"This is not a good time."

"When _will_ it be a good time?"

"Soon! It's just... This isn't a good time right now! Soon, I swear."

"All right. Fine. But we _need_ to talk."

_End call._

"Aunt Jessica!"

Jessica Fletcher beamed as she stepped off the bus, directly towards a familiar face. "Debra!" Laughing, the two women embraced warmly. "It's so good to see you again!"

"I'll say! How long has it been — three years?"

"Too long, no matter how much time it's been. You didn't have to meet me here; I could've taken a cab—"

"No way. My mom would've had a fit if she'd found out I let one of her oldest and dearest friends take a taxi." Debra Karofsky picked up Jessica's suitcase and led the way out of the bus station. "I know you must be exhausted from your book tour..."

"Oh, it's not so bad. Besides, your mother would've also had a fit if she'd found out that I'd been in Ohio and failed to visit her daughter." A cool wind swept over them both in the parking lot. "So how are Paul and the boys?"

"Doing well," Debra said lightly. "Jack says hello, and that he's sorry he can't be here."

"I didn't expect him to come home all the way from California just for me."

"But you're his favorite aunt! He likes you more than his actual blood aunts," Debra said wryly as she popped her trunk and slung Jessica's suitcase inside. "David's also looking forward to seeing you."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing him," Jessica said as she eased into the car and strapped herself in. "How old was he when he and Jack spent that summer in Cabot Cove? Nine?"

"Ten." Debra carefully pulled out of the parking lot. "I keep telling Mom that she has to send you pictures more often, but you know how she is."

Jessica laughed. "Finding time in her busy schedule has never been her strong suit, not even in college."

"Well, there's not a lot to see and do here in Lima, and with me and Paul having work and David still in school..."

"Oh, I'll be fine, I promise! Besides, a few days of doing nothing will do wonders for me when I go on to Cleveland."

They stopped at a red light; Debra took the opportunity to look over at her aunt-in-name-only. "It's really good to see you," she repeated, touching Jessica's shoulder.

"Same here," she replied with a smile.

Soon enough, they pulled into the Karofsky driveway. "If Paul doesn't come out here to help me with your suitcase, you can have our bed while he has the couch," Debra joked. Fortunately for him, Paul Karofsky came trotting out of the house as soon as his wife turned off the engine.

"Jessica!"

"Hello, Paul!" The two embraced. "You're looking well!"

"Thanks. I am a lot greyer, though," he said with a sigh, rubbing his beard.

"Who isn't?" Jessica chuckled as he took her suitcase from the open trunk. "Thank you so much for opening your home for me!"

"It's our pleasure," Paul said jovially.

"Like Jack, he thinks you're the best in-law he has, even though you aren't related to my family. Or maybe _because_ you're not related to my family!"

"Hey!" Paul protested unseriously as the three entered the house. "Your family is made up of saints. I've always thought so, and I've always said so."

"You're lucky you're so sweet when you lie." Debra and Paul pecked each other on the lips; Jessica smiled at the familiar sight. "David!" Debra called out in the direction of the stairs behind Jessica. "Where are you? Your aunt's here!"

"Coming!" a deep voice roared from somewhere above, followed by lumbering footsteps.

Jessica gasped when the burly young man tromping down the stairs came into view. "This can't be David!"

"Hey, Aunt Jessica," was the warm but somewhat sheepish reply.

"Oh, my goodness!" she laughed as the two hugged. "You're practically a grown man now!"

"Yeah, it's been a while."

"Too long of a while! How are you, David?"

"I'm doing okay," he said with a shrug.

Debra snorted. "Sorry, Aunt Jessica, you're dealing with a full fledged teenager now. Get used to it."

"That's right, you're a sophomore in high school now, aren't you?" David nodded. "Well, you must tell me all about it. Obviously, your Grandma Kathy hasn't been telling me a thing!"

"We have plenty of time for that," Debra said. "Is dinner ready, Paul?"

"Sure is. I hope you like spaghetti, Jessica."

"After three days of heavy food at fancy restaurants, some good old fashioned spaghetti would hit the spot right now!"

So it was that the three Karofskys and Jessica sat around the dining room table. They'd made a good dent in the bowl of pasta, and were now floating in minor food comas. But not once had the conversation ceased to anything less than a dull roar; Jessica found herself mildly surprised that she'd been able to eat as much as she had, with all the talking she wanted to do.

Through it all, David had been mostly in the background, talking willingly, but only to respond to Jessica's questions. He took odd glances at her now and then, and as Debra announced that the pie would be ready to eat in a few minutes, she found out why.

"Hey, Aunt Jessica... I was kinda wondering..."

"Yes?"

"I could use, um, a little help with my English grade, and my teacher is a big fan of yours. I think I could get a bunch of extra credit if you could, uh... Y'know... Come to my school and give a talk. Just a really short talk, but—"

"David!" Debra chided. "Your Aunt Jessica is here to relax, not do you favors that you wouldn't need if you just studied more!"

"Nonsense!" Jessica said, turning to her honorary nephew. "I'd love to help out."

David brightened. "Great! How about Friday? That enough time for you to relax?"

"Friday would be perfect."

"She's doing you a big favor, son," Paul said as he sipped his coffee. "You'd better be grateful."

"I am," David said, and Jessica could hear in his voice what he was remembering: that summer in Cabot Cove. David, as the younger boy, had been eager; Jack was older and more cynical about what a small Maine town could offer someone in those sensitive teen years. But by the end of it, after weeks of fishing and exploring and eating, Jessica almost thought she saw a bit of a tear in Jack's eye as he hugged her goodbye, although she knew better than to point it out.

Jessica had only occasionally regretted not having children of her own. Having her vast network of family and friends across the country — even across oceans — eased that yearning immensely, not to mention simply living the life she wanted to live, both with and without Frank. But even though she was never a mother, there were still times when she certainly felt like one — or at least bore the joys and responsibilities of one. Raising Grady was one obvious example. And that summer... that was another. Moreover, Katherine Anderson Hearthstone was about as close as a friend could be and still remain not bound by blood or marriage, so when her children and grandchildren called her "Aunt Jessica," she felt it as strongly as though she literally were their aunt.

So making that decision to help David was more than easy — it was almost automatic.

Later, David would wonder aloud whether everything that happened afterward was his fault. "Maybe if I'd been better at English, I wouldn't have asked you to come talk at school. Maybe if I'd just studied more, like Mom said..."

"That's the most fucked up reason to study I've ever heard," Noah Puckerman observed, and though she didn't care for the language, Jessica understood the sentiment.

Still, she couldn't deny that events were set in motion that evening, like falling dominoes. In a sense, it didn't matter who or what first knocked them down; maybe forces beyond anyone's understanding had set them up in the first place long ago.

Whatever the reason — if there was one — it still happened.

* * *

"Well! Hockey! It sounds like I'll have to scold your Grandma Kathy; she's been criminally negligent in keeping me up to date! I wish I could've seen one of your games."

David seemed to flush as he put her suitcase down inside the door of the guest bedroom. "My mom probably has some video if you want to see it."

"Of course I do! So how is school, apart from English?" she added, eyes twinkling.

David chuckled nervously. "Sorry about that, Aunt Jessica. I know it's your subject and everything. I guess with hockey and everything else..."

It was a casual statement, one anyone could've made at any time in any state of mind. But she knew this boy. She'd known him for sixteen years, never mind the ways in which he was subtly like his grandmother, her old friend. There was _something_ to his voice, something about those last two words... Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Everything else...?" David started, as if just realizing what he'd said. "Is something the matter at school?"

"No, no, nothing," he said quickly.

"You know if there is, you can tell me."

"I know, but there's nothing wrong, I promise — except maybe my English grade." His chuckle was somewhat hollow and forced. "So, uh... Do you need anything else?"

She could sense the shift in tone, and decided to let the matter drop for now. After all, she still had almost two weeks ahead of her to probe if need be. "Oh, no, nothing, I'm fine. Go on to bed."

"Okay, cool. My mom wrote down our phone numbers on that pad by the lamp. Good night."

"Good night, David." The smile slipped from her face, replaced by a pensive stare, as the door snapped shut.

Friday came quickly, even with Jessica's relative lack of activity. After all, these days people could communicate with each other no matter where they were in the world. As such, her publisher kept up the never ending flow of e-mails, guaranteeing that she was not bored, but by the time Friday rolled around, she was eager for a change of scenery and pace.

"The school is freaking out," David said that morning. "You're the biggest thing to happen at McKinley in, like, ever."

"Me?" Jessica said in honest astonishment.

"This is Lima, Aunt Jessica. We're in the asscrack of America... Uh, sorry." He ducked his head briefly, looking around; fortunately, both his parents had already left for work. "But nothing ever happens in Lima, especially not at McKinley. You're the biggest celebrity who's ever come to visit."

"Uh oh," Jessica said in good humor. "That's a lot of pressure!"

"Ah, you'll be fine," David said with a chuckle. "Just be you, y'know?"

"Very good advice."

"Yeah, it is. Came from someone really smart."

The memory washed over her unbidden: her own living room, a trembling boy fighting back unmanly tears... "Well," she said cheerfully, sensing that David wouldn't want to rehash the past under the circumstances, "I'll do my best to earn you your extra credit."

"Heh... Thanks." He picked up his car keys. "You sure you don't want me to drive you to school?"

"Oh, go on, it's no trouble. I'll have much more to do here while I wait anyway. I'll see you there!"

"Okay. See you there, Aunt Jessica."

She passed the morning quickly, and before she knew it, she was calling for a ride to McKinley High. The cab pulled into a parking lot in front of an incredibly typical suburban American high school. These were halls Jessica had trod before, and it felt welcoming, like an old friend. David was already waiting out front, along with a few other people — more than would be normal, in her experience — milling about the front entrance. Their purpose became abundantly clear when all their eyes turned towards her as she emerged from the cab. One of them, a bespectacled boy with a full head of curly red hair, was particularly interested in capturing her on video as she passed. She could hear excited buzzes from the small crowd.

David smirked at whatever look she must've had on her face. "I told you, Aunt Jessica: you're a big deal."

Jessica laughed. "It's been years since I started writing, but I don't think I'll ever get used to it!"

Just inside the doors, apart from the milling students within, stood a tall, well built man with sandy blond hair, obviously waiting. He was striding towards the two even before the doors shut behind them.

"J.B. Fletcher!" the man said, his voice shaky with delight. "Dan Tomlin, English. It's an honor to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Tomlin," she said, shaking his proffered hand.

"Honestly, when David here told me that he knew you, I thought he was just trying to angle for a better grade." He nodded towards David with a grin, who returned it gamely. "It took a phone call from his mother to get me to believe him. Now you're here. In my school! If you have time, I would _love_ to talk about how your writing has affected your pedagogy, and vice versa..."

"Well, I don't know how much I can tell you about that, but I'll try!"

"I'll be your tour guide," Tomlin continued. "Or at least until my next class. You can relax in the principal's office until the event at noon."

"Sounds good."

"I'll see you at the presentation, Aunt Jessica," David said.

"See you there." As she watched David melt into the crowd, Jessica noticed a few reactions from his fellow students. They were small, barely noticeable, but to a teacher of so many years, they screamed at her. She barely had time to register, let alone process, what she saw before Mr. Tomlin spoke again.

"If you'll come this way," he said, leading her through the rapidly thinning crowd. "This may not be the biggest school, or the richest, but it's home."

"I come from a small town, Mr. Tomlin," Jessica said with a smile. "I know exactly what you mean."

* * *

As Dave made his way towards his math class, he passed Finn Hudson in the hall. They made only the briefest of eye contact, but Hudson... flinched.

Holy shit. Finn Hudson flinched. At _him_.

Dave's shoulders squared, his strides growing stronger, his hands unconsciously balling into fists. He could get used to this.

Yeah, he could _definitely_ get used to this...


	2. Chapter 2

"... And that's pretty much it. I know places like this must be old hat to you, but..."

"On the contrary! It's easy to forget just how much has changed since I taught at the high school level!"

Mr. Tomlin nodded. "Ah, yes, technology. Teacher's best friend and worst enemy. At least in your day, you didn't have to worry about students getting essays online or exam answers with text messaging."

Jessica laughed. "Thank goodness! Students have always tried to gain an advantage over the teacher, but there are just so many ways now!"

"That's why I have to keep up on the latest and greatest out of Apple myself. Otherwise, I'll be caught flatfooted when they come out with iGlasses or whatever..."

"Mr. Tomlin."

The voice was flat and firm. The woman it belonged to, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere right in front of them, was firm herself, having an obviously athletic build that was only mostly hidden under her conservative dress. She adjusted her glasses as she fixed her eyes on the man at Jessica's side.

"Ah, Ms. Witten. This is J.B. Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher, Ms. Witten, chemistry."

Ms. Witten turned to Jessica with a distant, appraising look. "Nice to meet you," she said, sounding sincere enough, although the tone clashed badly with her body language. Indeed, she didn't wait for a reply before turning back to Mr. Tomlin. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"My class is going to start soon—"

"It's important."

"I..." Tomlin swallowed, his eyes flicking about as if searching for an exit. Finally, he turned to Jessica. "Mrs. Fletcher, do you mind? My class starts soon anyway, and the principal's office is right down the hall..."

"Oh, not at all."

"Thank you," he said with a wan smile. "I'll see you at the presentation?"

"I'll see you there." As she walked away, she took a brief glance over her shoulder at the two teachers. Their voices were low, almost whispers, so she couldn't make out a word they were saying, but every gesture, every hiss of breath, spoke of barely repressed tension. Jessica quickly turned her attention back in front of her.

The principal's office was clearly marked, not to mention set apart visually from the rest of the school with glass walls. Thus, she could see that the outer office was empty as he stepped inside. "Hello?" No answer. She was about to sit down in one of the visitor's chairs when the door to the innards of the office swung open, and a young, harried looking blonde woman emerged. Her eyes immediately alighted upon Jessica.

"Oh! Oh my gosh!" she gasped, almost jumping. "It's you! It's... it's really you!"

"Yes," Jessica chuckled, "I'm Jessica Fletcher, if that's what you mean."

"Oh my gosh!" the young woman repeated. "I... I'm Missy Peterson, Principal Figgins' secretary. I'm a _huge_ fan..."

"Why, thank you, Missy. It means a lot to know people enjoy my books."

"Oh, I do! My mom got me into them, and... Oh! That reminds me, if I could ask a _huge_ favor..." Missy scurried to the reception desk, which was covered in piles of dangerously leaning file folders and papers, opened a drawer, and took out a hardcover book. "I'm throwing a big birthday party for my Mom on Sunday, and I got her this..."

Jessica took the book, her eyebrows rising as she examined it. "My! A first edition of _The Corpse Danced at Midnight_!"

"Your first book," Missy said, nodding rapidly. "I found it on eBay. It was a lot, but so worth it, and when I heard you were coming here, I knew I had to... I mean, it would be _extra_ special for Mom if you could..."

"Of course. Do you have a pen?" Missy almost knocked over one of her precarious piles in her eagerness to grab a pen from her desk. "What's your mother's name?"

"Georgia."

Opening the book so Missy could see it, she wrote on the flyleaf, in graceful flowing script, "To Georgia. Thank you for sharing this wonderful journey with me. — Jessica".

Missy squealed with delight as Jessica passed the book back to her. "Ohmigod, thank you _so_ much. She's going to just _love—_ " The glass door to their left opened again, and in strode a rather nervous looking man, balding, wearing a somewhat rumpled suit. "Oh! Principal Figgins!" The jumpy, almost giddy girl vanished before Jessica's eyes, replaced by a cold, efficient secretarial machine. She put the precious book on her desk next to the computer monitor, then swept up one of the listing piles of papers with the precise handling of a veteran waiter at a high class table. Figgins' eyes widened as he found the stack shoved into his hands. "Here are the budget projections and requests you asked for. The PTA meeting has been set for the 16th. And the cafeteria is almost out of milk."

"Already?"

"The last shipment was short, remember?"

"Oh, right, of course." His eyes flickered to Jessica. "Ah... Can I help you?"

"Principal Figgins!" Missy scolded. "This is J.B. Fletcher!" A blank look. "The writer? The one who's giving the presentation at lunchtime?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes! Mrs. Fletcher! It's a great honor to have you here!" He began to reach out for a handshake, but the shifting papers in his hands prevented him. He gave an almost comedic look of apology.

"I'm happy to be here, Principal Figgins."

"Yes, well, this is a small school in a small town, so you understand, guests of your stature are rare..."

"Figgins!" The roar caused all three of them to turn towards the door. Framed in the now open doorway was a burly man in sweats. His eyes were squinting, his nostrils flared; he had the atmosphere of a bull on the verge of charging. "We need to talk!"

"Ah, Coach Tanaka... I have a guest here. You know, Mrs. Jess—"

"Now!" the man growled, stomping inside.

Figgins visibly shrank back. "Please, coach, lower your voice—"

"Something's got to be done about him! I'm tired of waiting around! If you don't, I'll submit a formal complaint, and—"

"Coach!" the principal gasped, half pleading and half scandalized. "We've already talked about this! If you do that, it will go nowhere! And it'll only hurt everyone involved, including your fiancee!"

"You're the principal," the coach growled, leaning forward until his nose was just feet from Figgins'. "You can do something."

"Ah... yes... I am. And I suppose I could, but..." It took visible effort for Figgins to put on a halfway calm and authoritative look on his face. "... Really, coach, nothing you've told me is actionable! And I'm hearing it all secondhand! If... if other people involved don't think it's worth bringing to me, what am I supposed to do?"

Principal and coach locked eyes; Jessica thought she could see the former actually paling. Finally, after what seemed to be an hour, the coach let out a long, resigned sigh. His shoulders relaxed, as did Figgins', in relieved reaction.

"Fine," Tanaka rumbled. A dangerous gleam returned to his eyes. "Then I'll have to take care of it myself." Without another word, he left the office, but his presence hung over the stunned trio for another few seconds, lingering like a bad smell. Not one of them had moved a muscle through the entire event.

"Well!" Figgins was finally breathing audibly. "I'm very sorry about that, Mrs. Fletcher. I assure you that such, ah, workplace conflicts are both common and easily resolved."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize for office politics, Mr. Figgins. It happens all the time."

"That's very kind of you, but I am quite embarrassed."

"It's fine, Principal. Really."

"Nevertheless, on behalf of McKinley, I'd—"

"Uh, Principal Figgins?" The man seemed startled to be addressed, as if forgetting that his secretary was standing not two feet away from him. "I have my dentist's appointment?"

"Oh, yes, right, right. You go on."

"Thank you." She scurried to the other side of her desk, snatched up a purse leaning against the wall, and went straight for the door. When she was halfway through, she hesitated, turning back to Figgins. "Do you want me to come back after I'm done to—"

"No, no, just go home. Enjoy your weekend, Missy."

"Thank you! You too, Principal Figgins. It was really great to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher!" She ran off in a blur.

"Well!" Figgins exhaled in what almost sounded like relief. "Why don't you step into my office, Mrs. Fletcher?"

"Certainly!" She followed Figgins to the inner office; he nodded at a visitor's chair as he dumped the pile of papers unceremoniously onto his desk and sat down behind it. Jessica sat, taking a quick glance over her shoulder through the open office door, half expecting to see the coach still glowering through the glass walls. But he was nowhere to be seen.

"So what do you think of McKinley?"

"I think it's a school to be very proud of, Mr. Figgins."

Figgins beamed. "Yes, I think so too! We may be small, but we are nimble, like a fox!"

"That's... an interesting analogy."

His beaming intensified. "Isn't it, though? Ah, do you care for some coffee, or...?"

"No, thank you."

An awkward silence descended. Fortunately, it was relatively brief; not more than half an hour had to pass before Figgins glanced at the clock and said, "It's almost noon. Care to follow me, Mrs. Fletcher?"

Jessica rose. "Lead the way!" She and Principal Figgins wended their way through McKinley's halls until they reached their destination: the April Rhodes Civic Auditorium, as a placard proclaimed. A small group was already milling about, waiting for the doors to open. Two of this group broke off and approached. One was a tall redheaded man, the other a student, somewhat slightly built, but very well dressed for someone his age.

"Oh my God," the latter gasped. "J.B. Fletcher! I love your books!"

The passing of many years, many faces, and many books failed to dim the warm gratitude she felt on hearing such praises. "Why, thank you!"

"I'm Will Schuester," the man broke in, extending a hand for Jessica to shake. "I teach Spanish, and I'm director of the school glee club."

"I'm Kurt. Hummel," the boy said, doing the same. "A member of the glee club."

"It's very nice to meet you both."

"Anyway," Mr. Schuester said, "I've gotten requests..." Schuester cast a significant glance at Kurt, who didn't seem to notice, dazzled as he was by Jessica's presence. "... To extend an invitation for you to come to a special rehearsal of the glee club this afternoon after school."

"It's just for you!" Kurt said eagerly. "We weren't going to have one today, but when I heard you'd be here..."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble!" Jessica protested.

Mr. Schuester shook his head. "No, no, we have a competition coming up soon, and we need the extra practice anyway. But we thought..." Again that glance at Kurt. "... That as a special guest of McKinley, you might enjoy a relaxing afternoon of music."

"My! Well, then, I'd be delighted to attend!"

Kurt lit up like the sun. "Great!" Mr. Schuester said. "We're based in the choir room; I'm sure someone can point you the way. Good luck with your talk." He and Kurt turned and rejoined the waiting crowd; the latter was noticeably bouncing on his heels as he did.

Principal Figgins gently touched Jessica's elbow. "This way, Mrs. Fletcher." Through a locked door, and down a back hall, they found themselves in what Jessica assumed was backstage inside the auditorium. "I apologize, but I won't be able to listen to your talk; I have a lot of work to do. But I think that's Mr. Tomlin right there..." He pointed to a far corner of the stage, where two men stood in shadow.

"Of course. Thank you very much, Principal." She watched as he hurried off, then approached the two men.

One of them was indeed the person she was looking for. "Got it." Mr. Tomlin was talking to another man in a janitorial uniform as he wrote in a small notebook covered in black leather. "I'm doing you a favor here, so..." As Jessica came into his field of view, he brightened, slipping the notebook into his jacket pocket. The janitor scurried away. "Ah, Mrs. Fletcher! Right on time!" He beckoned for Jessica to approach; as she did, he nudged aside the end of a heavy velvet curtain. "It's a full house out there."

Jessica peeked out. "Oh, my, so it is!" She noticed David was sitting in the front row; she smiled. The rest of the house was difficult to make out in the glare of the lights.

"Now that you're here, let's get this show on the road!" Mr. Tomlin stepped out onto the stage; she heard the whine of a microphone. "Welcome, everyone. Our very special guest for this lunchtime forum is an internationally renowned mystery novelist whose books regularly top the best seller list. She's here to discuss her work, her processes, and her interests, so please give a warm welcome to Mrs. J.B. Fletcher!"

Jessica nodded in grateful acknowledgement of the applause as she emerged onto the stage, giving a friendly wave to the audience. She sat at a table set up at center stage, with a microphone already waiting; Mr. Tomlin was seated in a chair next to her. Crouched near the far stage left corner was the young man with the distinctive hairdo from that morning, filming her as she took her place. "Thank you," she said warmly as the clapping died down. "Thank you all. It's an honor and a pleasure to be here today speaking to McKinley High School. I suppose I should start with one of the questions I'm asked most often: how did you get started writing?"

It was a standard talk, one she'd given a million times to a million different audiences, one she could recite in her sleep by now, but one she was not tired of, not by a long shot. Every time and every place she gave this talk, she thought of something new to share, and today was no exception.

But then it was time for her favorite part: the Q&A. Several audience members raised their hands; even against the lights, she could tell that one of them belonged to Kurt Hummel, the young man she just met. "Yes?" she asked, pointing at him.

He gasped, audible even from the stage. "Yes," he said, rocketing to his feet. "I was wondering if you ever considered exploring particular subgenres of mystery in your future works. You know, locked room, hardboiled private eye..."

Hm, a question Jessica had actually never gotten before. "Well, I don't think I have the imagination or the skill to create a locked room mystery," she chuckled. "As for hardboiled detective fiction... You know, I know someone who'd make a wonderful model for such a hero. But generally, I prefer where I started: the good old fashioned whodunnit. It's what I grew up with, and I enjoy solving puzzles, so it's where I'm most comfortable. But with the right idea... Certainly, I'd consider it. I've stretched my limits before, and I've enjoyed it when I did."

Kurt nodded, satisfied, and sat down. The rest of the questions were more generic, covering more well-trodden territory, so Kurt's question stuck in Jessica's mind long after the others faded.

After a while, Mr. Tomlin stood. "Well, I think Mrs. Fletcher deserves— Huh? Oh, ah... It seems we have an announcement...?"

Will Schuester jumped on stage. "Yes, I..." A blast of feedback burst out over the crowd as he took one of the microphones; many winced, Jessica included. "Sorry. I wanted to let everyone know that New Directions, our very own glee club, is holding a special rehearsal in Mrs. Fletcher's honor after school today at 3:30. It'll be about two hours, and since we already have one guest, I've decided to make this an open house. Anyone who wants to see what we do, and listen to some great music, is welcome to attend!" The ensuing silence struck Jessica as somewhat... chilly. "Um... Yes. I... hope to see everyone there." He handed the mike back to Mr. Tomlin and jogged offstage.

"As I was saying, I think Mrs. Fletcher deserves a big, warm round of applause!" And a big, warm round of applause was exactly what she got.

Afterward, one of the first to greet her at the edge of the stage was David. "That was great, Aunt Jessica!"

"I agree," Mr. Tomlin said with a grin. "You've certainly earned Dave that extra credit!"

"Glad to be of help," Jessica said, laughing.

"Um... There is one thing," David said, biting his lower lip. "I was actually thinking of going to this big basketball game right after school today. We're playing at Thurston, and... If you need me to hang around to take you home after the glee club..."

"Not at all! I can take care of myself! I'll catch a cab, or—"

"But Mom will kill me if she found out I made you take a cab!"

"Then we won't tell her!"

"Hold on," Mr. Tomlin interrupted, "I have a suggestion. I did still want to have that discussion about pedagogy with you, Mrs. Fletcher. Why don't I hang around school until you're through here, and I'll drive you home. We can chat along the way."

"Oh, I don't want to be a bother..."

"It's no bother at all! It's not every day I get to talk teaching with a famous writer! Besides, it'll give me time to catch up on some grading. That means more time with my wife this weekend, which I'm sure she'll appreciate."

Jessica thought for a moment, then nodded. "Well, if you're sure, then I accept your generous offer."

She wasn't sure who looked happier: David or Mr. Tomlin. "Great!" the latter said. "I'll be in my room; I'm sure one of the glee club members can show you the way."

"You sure you don't want to stay and listen to music with your old aunt, David?" Jessica asked somewhat teasingly.

"Uh... If it's all the same to you, Aunt Jessica, I'd rather go to the basketball game."

"Oh, of course you do. Have fun; I'll see you back at your house this evening."

That was the last she saw of David that afternoon before she was swept up in a crowd of well-wishers and autograph seekers.

Strangely, she'd remember it as one of her last moments of peace and quiet before everything unfolded.

* * *

Having a cousin who was a seasoned stage performer, Jessica supposed that a little bit of show biz was in her blood. Then there was her profession, which brought her into contact with all kinds of artists, and living in New York City, which inevitably exposed her to even more. Thus, she was genuinely interested when she arrived at the choir room that afternoon to listen to the glee club. Despite Mr. Schuester's invitation, she was, as far as she could tell, the only guest there.

They were a surprisingly diverse group of students. Some of the boys even wore letter jackets; one in particular, who had a mohawk shaved into his head, looked like he'd be more at home at a garage or pool hall than in a glee club.

But then, she better than anyone knew the transformative power of the arts.

Kurt seemed to be the most excited and nervous; the others didn't react as much to her name. Kurt even scolded them for not having gone to the presentation with him.

"Now, now," she said, lightly interrupting him in the middle of his rant, "I'm not a 'guest of honor' here. I'm just an audience. I'm here to listen to you."

"Exactly right, Mrs. Fletcher!" Mr. Schuester said enthusiastically. "So come on, New Directions: let's show her what we've got!"

And they did, in fact, have quite a bit. The first performer, a girl named Rachel, was the most focused on Jessica (although she got the sense that this interest was mostly because Jessica was obviously 'somebody', as opposed to being Jessica Fletcher), and had a lovely voice to boot. Kurt performed a Broadway medley that was absolutely dazzling. The boy with the mohawk, who was introduced as "Puck," did a delightful reggae song she remembered hearing on the radio a time or two, with a darker skinned boy who'd been noticeably silent most of the afternoon as his backup.

_Now when ya heard_  
_About this girl_  
_Her name is Maxine_  
_Her beauty is like_  
_A bunch of rose..._  
_If I ever tell you 'bout Maxine_  
_You would-a say_  
_I don't know what I know..._

Many other performances followed. By the end, her palms ached from her applause. "Wonderful!" she cried. "All of you are very talented!"

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Fletcher," Rachel said loftily, doing a sitting curtsy, which Jessica hadn't believed possible.

"Okay, guys, you're sounding good, but we need to _focus_ with Sectionals coming up," Mr. Schuester said. "But I think we've gotten a great start."

"I say, if you perform as well as you did today, I'd say you're a shoo-in to win!" The entire room couldn't help looking pleased at her sincerity.

As the group broke up, one of them approached; she wasn't surprised to see it was Kurt Hummel. "Mrs. Fletcher, I, um..." He smacked a dry mouth; she had the sense he wasn't used to being nervous this way. "I wanted to thank you. For coming to our school, and our rehearsal."

"Well, you're very welcome, Kurt."

"It's kind of a change for us, to get compliments for once..."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yeah, this school... isn't exactly the most... _progressive_ , you know?" She wasn't 100% sure she did, but she did have an inkling. "Uh... I hope you don't mind me asking, but I saw you at the presentation talking to Karofsky..."

"Who...? Oh, you mean David Karofsky."

"Y-yeah." Another tingling of instinct, much as she felt that morning. "You... you two know each other?"

"Yes, his grandmother and I have been friends for ages. Why do you ask?"

"Oh! Did you need a cab or a drive home?" She let the abrupt change in subject slide for now. "Because I drove myself here, and I can—"

It was then that Jessica realized that she and Kurt were now alone in the choir room. She checked her watch; it was twenty minutes to six. "That's very kind of you, Kurt, but all I need is to know where Mr. Tomlin's room is. He's giving me a ride home."

"Oh, I can do that!" Kurt said cheerfully. "Come on!"

The light coming through the windows was tinged in red as Kurt led her through the empty halls. "It's much quieter than I thought it'd be," she said with a somewhat nervous laugh.

"There's a big basketball game on right now. Plus, this place always empties quick on a Friday." Kurt stopped in front of a closed door. "Here we are!"

"Thank you, Kurt," she said warmly before knocking on the door. "Mr. Tomlin?" No answer. "It's Jessica Fletcher; I'm ready to leave if you are." She pushed open the door. "Mr. Tomlin, are you—?"

They both saw it at the same time: the pair of legs sticking out from the far side of a large wooden desk. She heard a sharp intake of breath beside her. Slowly, gingerly, the two approached. As they crept forward, their hips bumping into the empty student desks, the legs turned into a full body, laying on its back, a splotch of bright red staining the chest, over the heart.

"Dear lord!" Jessica knelt by the still form of Dan Tomlin. "Kurt, call the police."

"Should... should I ask for an ambulance?"

She felt the side of Tomlin's neck. "No," she said grimly, "I'm afraid there's no need for an ambulance."


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt shuddered as the pulsing red lights from the police cars flashed across his face. He and Jessica watched as a man who introduced himself as Detective Simmons — a tall burly man with buzz cut red hair — argued with a much more familiar face.

"But we have events scheduled for this weekend!" Figgins whined. "Tomorrow, we're holding a—"

"Cancel it, move it, I don't care," Det. Simmons interrupted flatly. "This entire school is closed for the weekend. _Nobody_ gets in until Monday."

"This is outrageous!"

"This is _murder_ , sir." Figgins visibly paled at the mere reminder. "And we need to conduct our investigation. Now, you can either let us do our job, or you can try to interfere. If you try to interfere, it'll just take us longer to finish, and your school will be closed past Monday. Maybe _way_ past Monday. You'll have to schedule make up days, deal with the parents and the media... Your call."

"Well." Figgins wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of the police. You are the backbone of our society, after all..."

"I'd never seen a dead body before." Kurt's words were near a bare whisper, but it was still enough to draw Jessica's attention. "Well, there was my mom, when she died, but that feels... different. She was sick for a long time, but Mr. Tomlin was... And I knew him..." Jessica nodded sadly, and gently laid a hand on the pale teenager's shoulder. She was about to speak, but suppressed her words when she saw Detective Simmons approaching.

"The two of you are free to go," he said in a low tone that Jessica figured was supposed to be gentle and compassionate; it was a good effort, but it was obvious he wasn't used to it. "I have your statements and your phone numbers; if I need anything else, I'll call."

"Thank you, Detective." Jessica gently led Kurt towards the parking lot, past the police cars and yellow tape. "I could ask one of these officers to take me back to where I'm staying..."

"Oh! No... no!" Some form of normalcy was returning to Kurt's mood and attitude, which Jessica was relieved by. "I'll drive you. It's no bother, I swear. And..." He hesitated. "I'd appreciate the company. I don't know if I want to be alone right now..."

"I understand completely."

In minutes, the two were on the road; Jessica absently noted that the windshield seemed to be brand new, compared to the rest of the car. She felt the urge several times to break the heavy silence, but couldn't find words that would be of any help or comfort. Kurt, for his part, kept a laser focus on the road. Once, his hand started moving towards the radio console, but paused, then returned to the steering wheel.

Fifteen uncomfortable minutes later, guided by the GPS on Kurt's phone, they arrived at the Karofsky house. Two dark figures stood on the patio; as both ran towards the driveway the instant they pulled in, she could see in the weak light that they were Debra and David Karofsky. They met her as she emerged from Kurt's car.

"Oh, my God, Aunt Jessica!" Debra gasped. "Are you all right? David is in a _world_ of trouble for leaving you alone like that." She cast a baleful glare at her son.

"I'm _fine_ , Debra. I told David to go on ahead."

"Is it true? David's English teacher is...?"

"I'm afraid so."

"It's all over the rumor mill," David said, his face pale. Jessica nodded, knowing the rapidity with which news could spread in a small town. "I heard about it at the basketball game. I came right home, and— Shit, Aunt Jessica, I'm really sorry..."

"I said I'm fine," Jessica said firmly. "It's all right. In fact, Kurt here—" It was then she was conscious of the car backing out of the driveway.

"Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher!" Kurt called out through the open window before rolling it up and driving away.

Debra raised both eyebrows. "Huh. Wonder what that was about?"

"We found Mr. Tomlin together. He's very badly shaken, as you can imagine." She was about to continue, but was stopped by the look on David's face. She couldn't define what was so strange about it, or the emotions it expressed — just that whatever she saw there tied her tongue for a moment. Just as she was finding her voice again, she felt Debra's hand on her forearm.

"I have a pot of tea ready inside."

"A nice hot cup of tea is _just_ what I need," Jessica said gratefully as the trio entered the house.

"Paul was tied up late at the office, but he's coming home right now," Debra said as she ushered Jessica to a seat at the dining room table.

Despite the horrors of the past hours, Jessica found herself laughing. "Debra, believe me, I am _all right_. I wasn't in any danger whatsoever..."

" _I_ was. Who do you think Mom would've blamed if something had happened to you? I would've been in the morgue, right next to that poor man..." Debra visibly shuddered. "I'm going to get that tea ready." She scurried into the kitchen; as Jessica watched, she was conscious of David sitting next to her.

"Um, Aunt Jessica...?"

"Yes?"

"That... that guy who drove you home..."

"Oh, Kurt? Do you know him?"

"Um... Kinda. Not exactly..."

"He seemed to know you," Jessica remarked carefully. "He called you by your last name...?"

David flushed. "Yeah. It's kinda stuck, 'cause it's so unusual, y'know? There's a dozen Davids at McKinley, but only one Karofsky, right?" His head shot up. "What did he say about me?" His voice was tense, frayed.

Jessica shrugged, feeling confident that she was hiding her concern and attention. "Nothing, really. Why do you ask?"

David opened his mouth to answer, but his mother returned with a tea tray. "Oh, no reason." He quickly rose to his feet. "Mom, I'm going to my room."

"Okay, honey," she replied with a distracted nod as she poured steaming tea into a white china cup. She didn't even look up to see David beat a quick retreat — but Jessica did. By the time she turned around after he vanished from sight, the cup was already in front of her. "You take yours with honey, right?"

"Perfect," Jessica said with a grateful smile as she took the tea. "So..." She sipped, the warmth already easing her mind somewhat. "How is David doing in school?"

"He didn't tell you? No, of course not, he's sixteen now." She shook a weary head. "He's doing fine, except for English, obviously." Just the mention of the subject the late Mr. Tomlin taught sent Debra's cup rattling a little against the saucer. "He's playing hockey now. That's about it."

_No_ , Jessica thought, _that is certainly_ not _"it."_ But she didn't voice the thought, and she had no time to dwell on it as the two heard Paul Karofsky's car pull into the driveway.

Fortunately for everyone, Paul was much quicker to believe Jessica's reassurances. Thus, she was able to pass the remainder of Friday night, and most of Saturday, in peace, except for a few necessary bits of comfort for Debra and the occasional worried look from David.

She tried very hard not to think about the previous evening. After all, that was the job of the police. She was here to relax and enjoy the company of the Karofskys. Still, she couldn't help a lingering thought or two, a memory leading to speculation...

No. No. It was none of her business.

She'd almost succeeded in putting the whole horrible affair aside by late Saturday afternoon when there were rapid knocks on the door. Paul got up and answered. "Yes?" she heard him say.

"Is Mrs. Fletcher here?" a familiar high pitched voice said. "I really need to speak with her."

"Uh, just a moment... Jessica?" But she was already on her feet, hurrying to Paul's side. There, at the door, she found the person she expected to find.

"Mrs. Fletcher?" Kurt Hummel said, his wide eyes swimming, his hands worrying at each other. He was as twitchy as a half-squashed bug.

"Kurt? What's the matter?" Jessica asked in concern. She felt a presence of someone behind her on the stairs; she absently wondered if it was Debra or David, but she couldn't turn around to see.

"I..." The boy swallowed, then started again. "I'd really appreciate it if you could come with me to the police station."

"The police station? Whatever for?"

"As an alibi witness." The next words came out in a rush, but every one rang crystal clear in Jessica's ears. "The police are questioning Mr. Schuester for Mr. Tomlin's murder!"

* * *

Within moments, she and Kurt were once again on the road together. "Thank you _so_ much," Kurt said for the third time.

"It's no problem, believe me. I want to get this cleared up for Mr. Schuester just as badly as you." Well, maybe not; it was clear how shaken the boy was. However, she didn't understand just how shaken until he spoke his next words.

"This is all my fault!"

" _Your_ fault?" she repeated. "Why on Earth would you think that?"

"I got Mr. Schue to do the special rehearsal for you! Maybe if I hadn't, you and Mr. Tomlin would've gone home right after school. Maybe..." His knuckles turned white in its grip on the steering wheel, visible to Jessica even in this poor light. "Maybe he'd still be alive... and Mr. Schue wouldn't be in trouble..."

"Actually," Jessica said mildly, "I was the one he was waiting at school for. So that means that his death is entirely my doing."

"No!" Kurt gasped, turning to her; he had to take a split second to wrench his attention back onto the road. "You're not to blame...!"

"And you're not either," Jessica said. "We can't spend our lives on 'what ifs,' Kurt. Sometimes bad things just happen. The _only_ person at fault here is Mr. Tomlin's murderer, and I don't want to hear you saying otherwise again. Understood?"

"I... Understood." There was a sudden distant hardness to Kurt's voice that sent alarm bells ringing in Jessica's mind; it would take a while, however, to see her concerns come to fruition.

When they arrived at the police station, the other members of the McKinley High glee club were already waiting in the lobby, sitting on benches and chairs. Not a single one was looking at a cell phone — just staring at each other, off into space, wearing shell-shocked expressions, as if they couldn't believe where they were.

Jessica and Kurt immediately went to one of the officers, who led them to Detective Simmons. He was particularly interested in Mr. Schuester's whereabouts between 3:30 and 5:30 that fateful afternoon. Both of them individually swore that Mr. Schuester was in the choir room with them the entire time. No, he didn't leave until everyone left at 5:30, not even once. No, they saw and heard nothing; they were in a soundproofed room with loud music playing while almost on the other side of the school as the crime scene. Simmons' brow was furrowed by the end, but he nodded, sighed, and dismissed them.

When they returned to the lobby, the others were still waiting, despite the fact that Detective Simmons had said they'd already been questioned. Without a word to the others, Kurt sat in a free seat next to one of the blondes and waited. He took a quick look at Jessica; she nodded and stood in a far corner to quietly join the vigil.

Finally, after what felt to Jessica like hours, Will Schuester emerged from somewhere in the back halls of the station. As one, the entire assemblage of teenagers got up and swarmed around him.

"Thank you." His voice was shaky, but rapidly gaining firmness. "Thank you all. I... I don't know what to say. I'm very grateful for all of you."

"The police _arrested_ you, Mr. Schue!" one of the girls, whom Jessica remembered was named Mercedes, said sharply.

"They didn't _arrest_ me, they just brought me in for questioning..."

"And we had to bail you out! We couldn't just let you rot in jail!"

"I'm fine, everyone — I'm fine," Mr. Schuester said insistently, although the way his shirt was sweat-plastered to his body indicated that he, understandably, hadn't always been "fine." The students barked out questions about what the police had told him and asked him, but Mr. Schuester pointedly and properly did not answer any of them. "The police don't think I have anything to do with the... the murder anymore. So why don't we all just go on home. It's been a long couple of days."

It took a distinct moment for the group to slowly disperse. Jessica followed Kurt to his car. They were on the road only for a few minutes before Jessica's fears came to life. "I want to help."

"Help...?"

"I want to help find out who killed Mr. Tomlin."

"I'm sure the police are quite capable of—"

Kurt laughed bitterly. "You know how many murders we have in Lima? Almost none! The police have just as much experience at this as I do! Besides, it's personal! Whoever did this must've tried to frame Mr. Schue. And..." Kurt swallowed audibly. "And I can't get the sight of Mr. Tomlin out of my head..."

It was exactly as Jessica had feared. From the sound of his voice and the set of his shoulders, she knew Kurt wouldn't be dissuaded. She wondered if Sheriff Metzger and all those other law enforcement agents over the years felt the same kind of helpless exasperation she was feeling.

"I'm sure the others will want to help too," Kurt continued. "When they framed Mr. Schue, all of us got involved. The glee club, it... It's gotten to be really important to me. To all of us. And Mr. Schue deserves not to have everyone at McKinley whispering about him behind his back and wondering if he really did it. You know they will, Mrs. Fletcher."

Yes, it was very clear that Kurt felt strongly about every word he said, and if the bond she'd seen and felt among the members of the glee club was what she thought it was, he spoke for them all. Twelve well meaning teenagers, trying to interfere in a murder investigation, ignoring every adult warning, every second lurching closer to gaining unpleasant attention from the authorities...

There was only one thing for it, then.

"If you're going to be doing anything, it has to be with adult supervision."

Kurt instantly perked up. "You mean...?"

Jessica sighed, nodding. "I'll help in whatever way I can. But the instant anyone makes a move without my permission..."

"We promise we won't!" Kurt gasped. "I mean, I promise, but I'm sure the others will, and... Oh my God, Mrs. Fletcher, thank you..."

"You can thank me by staying out of trouble. Besides, I have to admit I'm a little curious..."

"Oh my God I'm teaming up with J.B. Fletcher this is so awesome I'm gonna call an emergency meeting at my house tomorrow and we can talk about..." The verbal spew rambled on and on; Jessica wondered whether it meant she'd made a good decision, or a bad one.

The next morning, Jessica wandered about the eerily quiet Karofsky house until she found David in the dining room munching on toast.

"G'morning, Aunt Jessica," he said, spraying crumbs across the table.

Jessica chuckled. "Swallow first." He dutifully obeyed. "Good morning, David. Where are your parents?"

"Dad's running errands. Mom's at church," he said, a somewhat sour note to his voice.

"Oh, that's right." She cocked her head. "You didn't go?"

David shook his head. "Nah. It's not really for me anymore." He finished his toast, eyes suddenly focused on the empty plate in front of him instead of Jessica's face. She sat across from him; it was a moment before he raised his face again. "There's eggs and pancakes in the kitchen. Want me to get some for you?"

"I'll serve myself, thank you." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, I need to get somewhere in about an hour, and with your parents at church..."

"Oh, yeah, sure, I can drive you. Where do you need to go?"

This was why she hesitated. She didn't know nearly enough of the story, but she had the strong instinct that the reaction to her next words would be out of the ordinary. But at the same time, she felt like this was something she needed to do, for the same reason. So she spoke. "The home of a classmate of yours. Kurt Hummel?" David froze — froze solid for a full second. There it was. "He and the school glee club are having a meeting there."

"And you're gonna be there? Why?"

"Well..." She hesitated again, wondering once more how much to tell him. But if she was going to lean on him as much as she planned (not to mention get to the bottom of whatever was going on in his head), he'd find out sooner or later, especially as a McKinley High School student. So she answered. "They're helping me look into Mr. Tomlin's murder."

David barked a sharp laugh. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

The laugh melted off his face. "So the entire fuc— entire glee club is gonna be there...?"

"I believe so. Is that a problem?"

"Um..." For a moment, Jessica actually entertained the thought that he'd say yes. "No, no, no problem. Why don't you get some breakfast, and we can leave whenever you want?"

"That would be marvelous. Thank you very much, David." She rose. "I'll go get that breakfast."

"Yeah. Sure. No problem."

As Jessica went towards the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder at the back of her nephew. Yes, his own shoulders were slightly slumped, and she could see (and hear) him tracing idle circles on the tabletop with the tip of his butter knife.

It seemed she had two mysteries to solve while she was here.


	4. Chapter 4

As David's car pulled up in front of the address Kurt had given Jessica the previous night, she thought she saw a blurred face looking out the window — a face quickly covered by a falling curtain that had been pulled aside.

David double parked right in front of the front walk, as the curbside parking was taken up by several cars of various makes and models — probably the other members of the glee club. "You should find a better place to park," Jessica said.

"Nah, I'll just drop you off."

"I won't be that long."

"That's okay, I'll just go to the Lima Bean, get some coffee. You can call me when you're done."

Under normal circumstances, Jessica wouldn't have pressed. Under normal circumstances, she would've just agreed, gotten out of the car, and let David drive away while she took care of business. But once more, some instinct in her told her it was vitally important to instead say, in a tone of wide-eyed innocence, "Don't be silly. This seems like a perfectly nice home, and you know these people already. You'd be much more comfortable waiting for me here. You could go into the kitchen or the dining room if you wanted some peace and quiet."

David's trapped look confirmed a lot of Jessica's concerns. "I, um... It's no problem..."

"Besides, now that I think about it, I actually have no idea how long we'll be. This way, if it looks like I'll be a while, I can just send you home and have Kurt drive me back." She touched David's arm in a friendly manner, vaguely guilty at the way she was pushing, but if she was going to figure out what was going on, this was a necessary step. "I hate to be such a nagging aunt, but there's no harm in being a little sociable."

Indeed, she felt like she'd done a lot already to get David out of his shell. That summer in Cabot Cove, he would've been perfectly content wandering the beaches and trails by himself and spending the rest of the time in his room — the opposite of his outgoing and gregarious brother. But she felt like she needed to get a little color and enthusiasm into his life. So she made sure he attended picnics and cookouts other activities already organized for the kids of Cabot Cove. He even went out on Ethan's boat for an afternoon. By the Fourth of July, he made a couple of new friends, and went with them to a "perfect spot" to watch the fireworks. Jessica considered it a great victory.

That was probably one reason there was a definite bead of sweat running down David's brow. As an educator with a big extended family, she'd learned how to tell how far she could push the envelope with people. This instinct had come in handy many times before in her life, and at the moment, she sensed that she was near the limit of what David would take. If he didn't answer soon, she'd have to give up for the time being. But...

"Okay." He said it with a long, deep sigh, but he said it. "Fine. Looks like there's a space down the block there."

"There you go," Jessica said with a tinge of relief, patting him on the shoulder.

It was a painful step, but one she felt to her bones would be important. As it turned out, she was very right.

In a few minutes, she and David were going up the Hummel front walk, the latter distinctly three steps behind. She pretended not to notice, jogging up to the door and ringing the doorbell. After a few moments, the door opened, revealing a tall balding man.

"Hello, I'm Jessica Fletcher. Is Kurt home?"

"But what about the mattress commercial?!" an outraged female voice screeched from somewhere inside the house. It sounded like Rachel.

"Forget the damn mattress commercial!" a voice that was most definitely Kurt's responded. "If we don't find the real— if we don't help Mr. Schuester, how long do you think the glee club will last? What do you think Coach Sylvester is telling Figgins right now?"

A chorus of teenage voices joined him in chaotic agreement. The man turned back to Jessica. "Oh, everyone's here," he said with a wry half-grin. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's dad." He paused. "Um... You're J.B. Fletcher, right? The mystery writer?"

"Yes?"

"Um... I just wanted to say... Thank you. Y'see, Kurt's mom... my wife... was very sick for a long time. She was always a big fan of your books, and they were one of the only things that got her mind off... off things while she was in the hospital." Burt Hummel rubbed the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. "Kurt still has all of her old books — your books. He rereads them at least once a year. But I just wanted you to know how much you've meant to this family."

This was one of those moments that Jessica would remember for the rest of her life. "I'm truly very touched, Mr. Hummel. I very much appreciate that I was able to help you and your family through difficult times in my own way."

"Every little bit helped. Seriously." He paused, his eyes flickering over Jessica's shoulder; she heard footsteps walk up behind her.

"Hi... I'm Ka— Uh... David," a nervous voice rumbled. "Karofsky. I... Um... I'm her nephew. Her ride."

Burt nodded absently. "You look familiar..."

"Uh, yeah, I go to McKinley High too."

"I see. Are you part of this big scheme of Kurt's?"

"Not... really."

Burt laughed. "I have no idea what's going on, so I'm in the same boat. Why don't you join me in the den? I have the game on, and we can forget about whatever this is all about for a while." He waved vaguely towards his left, nearly hitting his son in the face when he suddenly appeared. "Oops, sorry."

"No problem." Kurt quickly interposed himself in front of his father. "Mrs. Fletcher! Glad you could make it..." Kurt's eyes widened as he saw David; Jessica suddenly realized that the tumult inside had also ceased entirely. She could just about see at this angle curious faces peeking out at this scene from an archway inside the house. Yes, this move was certainly proving... educational. "Oh... Um..."

"Oh, don't worry about him," Jessica said. "He won't be in the way. He's going to join your father in the den, aren't you, David?"

Whatever indecision he had evaporated instantly. "Yeah! Um... Lead the way, Mr. Hummel!"

"Great! C'mon." He stepped aside and allowed Jessica and David entry; Jessica noted that Kurt moved so that she was between the two boys. "Do you want a Coke?" Burt Hummel said as he and David disappeared around the corner.

Jessica turned and looked through the archway as Kurt closed the door behind her. Yes, the entire glee club was in the living room, stuffed onto couches and sitting on pillows on the floor. They were also staring at her — or more specifically, at the space where she was standing.

"That was Karofsky," one of the boys, a very tall one whose name escaped her at the moment, said, an edge of some sort in his tone.

"Forget him," Kurt said dismissively, striding forward. "With Mrs. Fletcher here, we can finally get down to business."

First, a round of introductions to refresh Jessica's memory: the tall boy's name was Finn, and also present were Rachel, Puck, Mercedes, Tina, Brittany, Santana, Artie, Mike, Matt, and Quinn. This last girl, Jessica noted, had a slight but distinct curve to her belly, and Finn, who was sitting next to her, had a very protective arm around her shoulder. It was an irrelevant detail, of course, but one her mind automatically noted and filed away.

Kurt tapped the shoulder of Puck, who was sitting in an easy chair; the latter reluctantly got up. Jessica sat gratefully. "Everyone's in, Mrs. Fletcher," Kurt said. "What do you want us to do?"

All eyes and ears were trained on her. Jessica took a deep breath. "All right, rule number one: do not do _anything_ without me knowing about it. Understood?" There were nods. "Rule number two: nobody knows what you're doing. Nobody. If we're going to be effective, we'll have to be clandestine. Report everything you discover to the rest of us, and don't take unnecessary risks. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Mike said. "We are." The others nodded again.

"Good. Now, the best way for all of you to help is information. I'm a stranger here, but you know the lay of the land and the players involved. Think about who you know who might have information we need. Play to your strengths, and I think all of you will be able to contribute."

"My friend Derek's dad is a cop," Matt said. The others looked somewhat startled, as if they hadn't expected him to speak. But that was silly; they had to hear his voice all the time, being part of the glee club. "He's pretty well liked at the precinct. I think Derek can pump him for information."

"As long as your friend and his father won't be in any trouble, that's an excellent start. Obviously, whatever we get from him will most likely be limited, but it may be important."

"Hey!" Artie said, snapping his fingers. "Kurt, you said Jacob ben Israel was at Mrs. Fletcher's talk, didn't you?"

"Yeah..." His eyes widened. "Oh!"

"Who's that?" Jessica asked.

"Kid with big hair." Artie gestured a sphere around his head, triggering Jessica's memory. "He's a wannabe tabloid reporter. Always filming people and stuff. I think I can get a look at his footage."

"How?" Mercedes asked.

"By promising him an exclusive once we figure this out. He'll keep his mouth shut until then, or he gets nothing. That okay with you, Mrs. Fletcher?"

Jessica nodded slowly. "That could be promising. Please, look into it. The more we know about the day Mr. Tomlin died, the better."

"We can work the McKinley rumor mill," Quinn said. Brittany and Santana nodded in agreement. "We're cheerleaders; we're _totally_ plugged in. If anyone knows any dirt about Mr. Tomlin, we'll find out."

"Yes, that is a key part of this: motive. Do any of you know off the top of your heads any reason someone would want Mr. Tomlin dead?" All the teenagers present shook their heads in the negative after varying pauses for thought.

"I could look into my sources."

Santana raised an eyebrow at Puck. "And what kind of 'sources' do _you_ have?"

"Hey, you meet all kinds in juvie," Puck said with a much too casual shrug. "I'll poke around and see if there's anything out there."

"Do you have any ideas, Mrs. Fletcher?" Kurt asked.

She paused; this was a tricky one. On one hand, she didn't want to prejudice the group's thinking or risk them doing something that would tip off the people she had in mind. On the other hand, gathering information would be incomplete at best and impossible at worst if they didn't have some kind of focus.

In the end, she decided she had to take the risk. "A couple. Do you know a Ms. Witten? She teaches chemistry."

"Yeah," Mike said, "I have a class with her."

"I'm in the same class," Finn said. "Why?"

Kurt's eyes widened. "You think she—?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just because I mention someone doesn't mean they have anything whatsoever to do with the murder. But... she had a very... animated discussion with Mr. Tomlin the morning he died."

Finn and Mike looked at each other. "I think we can try to look into it," the latter said.

"I want to hear any suggestions you have. And _that_ is not a suggestion," Jessica added significantly. "Now, I remember some of you are athletes; do you know Coach Tanaka?"

Several of the young men glanced at each other, startled. "Yeah," Mike said. "He's our football coach."

"Well, I don't know if this has anything to do with anything, but he was very upset that morning. He demanded that Principal Figgins talk to him about something, but I have no idea what. It could be a coincidence, but..."

"Might be tough to find out," Puck mused. "Coach isn't exactly a talkative guy with us."

"But he's engaged to Ms. Pillsbury," Artie pointed out. "And she's friends with Mr. Schue." There was a stir from somewhere in the room, but Jessica couldn't determine where. "Maybe we can find out that way."

"Why don't I handle Mr. Schuester?" Jessica said. "I'm a stranger, and an adult, so he might open up more to me. Same with Principal Figgins."

Now _that_ caused a big stir. "You think Figgins is a suspect?" Tina asked in hushed awe.

"At this point, we shouldn't be counting anyone out as a suspect. Do any of you know anything about Mr. Tomlin's personal life?"

There were once again shakes of heads. "He's married..." Rachel began.

"Yes, he mentioned his wife to me."

"... But I don't know anything about her. Or anything else about him, for that matter." Rachel shrugged. "He's not in the arts, so I didn't bother to do my usual research on him."

Jessica had no idea how to respond to _that_ , so she said, "Well, anything anyone can dig up is important, so I'll assign that to the rest of you. The best thing you can do for me and Mr. Schuester is to keep your eyes, ears, and most importantly, your minds open. Don't suspect anyone, but don't dismiss anyone either. Now, I want to hear from all of you. Do you have any ideas or suggestions?"

And they did — lots of them. Most were the kind that a group of sixteen year olds raised on police procedural dramas would come up with, but there were a few that were well thought out and insightful. Kurt especially was an eager contributor — natural, given what she now knew of his history and interests (although that enthusiasm to finally be part of a mystery he only used to read about made Jessica think that he could actually be more trouble than any of the others).

As in the classroom, Jessica made sure to create an easy atmosphere of give-and-take, suggestions and counter-suggestions, a collaborative environment in which her ideas and opinions held only a little more force than anyone else's. By the time they were finished, maybe an hour later, she actually felt better about this whole crazy idea. At the least, she was less nervous about these kids overstepping their boundaries and getting into trouble.

Not that "less" was anywhere near "not," of course.

Soon, with assignments in hand and plans at the ready, the discussion broke up, and the participants drifted off to home. One of the last to leave was Finn; he paused as he passed Jessica.

"Um... Mrs. Fletcher?"

"Yes?"

"You... uh, you came here with Karofsky?"

"Yes. I'm an old friend of the family."

"Oh." He coughed and shuffled his feet. Jessica waited patiently for him to make a decision. Finally, he said, "Do you, uh... Do you know what he's doing at school?"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "What he's doing at school?"

"I hate to be some kind of snitch," Finn burst out. He looked around; those remaining were busy in their own little discussions, but he lowered his voice anyway. "He, uh... He and I... haven't been getting along very good."

"Oh?" she said encouragingly.

"A few weeks back, he... um... He Slushied me."

Jessica's brow furrowed. "Pardon?"

"He... threw a frozen drink in my face. And Quinn's."

Jessica gasped. " _David_ did that? Why?!"

"Well," Finn began, wincing, "he said it was kind of payback for something that happened in fifth grade. But ever since then, he's been doing even more crap like that. He Slushied Puck a while later. And a few days ago, he and his buddy Azimio cornered me in the locker room and kinda... threatened me." Jessica's shocked expression caused him to hurry on. "It wasn't that bad! I mean, maybe 'threaten' was a bad word. They just made fun of me, and said they'd make more fun of me later. I just... I just wanted someone to know what he's done, and... I'm kinda afraid he's gonna do more."

"That's... I'm so sorry, Finn. I have no idea what could've gotten into that boy! It certainly doesn't sound like the David I know! I'll take care of it, don't you worry."

"Mrs. Fletcher?" The two broke off as Kurt approached. "Finn? Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, everything's great," Finn said abruptly. "I should go. I'll talk to you later, Kurt, Mrs. Fletcher." He hurried away, towards a waiting Quinn. Jessica and Kurt watched, the latter with a faraway expression that the former definitely noticed. She rose, about to ask Kurt where his father's den was, but he spoke first.

"Uh, could I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"I couldn't help but overhear a little of what you were talking about," Kurt said in a sheepish tone. "And I was wondering..."

"Did he do something to you too?" Jessica asked in horror.

"No! Not yet..." Kurt bit his lip as they both winced. "But I've heard about everything, and I wanted to ask... You said that didn't sound like Karofsky... David... to you. What... What _is_ he like to you?"

Jessica searched the young man's face, and found genuine curiosity. So she gathered her thoughts, then began, "Well, I always think of him as quiet, bright, a little shy..."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yes, really. I've known him his entire life, and he was always very sensitive and eager to please." Which, Jessica realized, could explain quite a bit. Not enough, though; she felt certain there was something else going on, some kind of core from which this blight had spread, but she had no idea what it was. Yet. "A little slow to try new experiences, but once he found one he'd like, he'd immerse himself in it. He's much the same way with people, too." She shook her head. "There's so much more I could say, I don't know where to begin. But believe me, I will have a talk with him about this. I'll make sure he doesn't bully the glee club again."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. "I'd— _we'd_ really appreciate that. Like I said before, we aren't exactly the most popular kids in school, and every little bit helps." He paused. "You know, some of what you said kind of makes sense. I mean, he just seemed to suddenly do all this stuff fairly recently; I don't remember hearing anything about him in his freshman year. Why... why do you think he's changed?"

Jessica had absolutely no answer for that. Fortunately, she didn't get an opportunity to say so; Mr. Hummel emerged, David trailing behind him. "You guys done?" he asked his son.

"Oh, yeah, we're done." The sound of the door shutting behind Artie emphasized the point.

"Then I'm ready to go," Jessica said to David, rising from her seat.

"Oh. Okay, great."

"How was the game?"

David blinked. "Oh... fine. It was, um, nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel."

Burt Hummel nodded. "Take care." He didn't notice Kurt's widening eyes.

Jessica's instincts warred with each other on the stroll back to the car, but she quickly came to the conclusion that it was too soon to confront David with what she knew of his behavior. Maybe after she knew a little more about where it all came from. As much as she hated it, it was probably better for longer term success that she hold back for now — watch and listen, just as she'd exhorted the glee club to do.

The drive home was silent, at least on David's part. So was dinner; Jessica filled in enough conversation that she didn't think Debra or Paul noticed. It was only after dinner, mostly on impulse, that she gently cornered David in the upstairs hall.

"David, I could use your help. I need reliable transportation if I'm going to be looking into what happened to Mr. Tomlin, and with your parents working..."

"You need me to be your chauffeur some more."

Jessica nodded. "Just until everything is cleared up."

"Well... I have hockey practice and stuff..."

"I'll ask one of the glee club members to give me a lift if you're busy. But when you're not, it would be convenient to know that you're available."

David nodded slowly. "Okay." He started to pass Jessica, but she stopped him with a touch of his arm.

"David... You do know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He stared at her, but his eyes were hidden in a shadow thrown by the hall light, much to her chagrin. "Yeah," he said, his voice mildly strained. "Yeah, I know. Good night, Aunt Jessica."

"Good night." She watched him tromp towards his room. She sighed as she heard the door slam behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

As Detective Simmons promised, McKinley High School was open on Monday. But there was a distinct pall that Jessica could feel, even knowing nothing of the school's usual atmosphere.

The day opened with a school-wide assembly in the gym. Jessica stood in a corner quietly as Principal Figgins took the stage. "Ah... I know that most of you must have heard of the unfortunate news last Friday. One of our own faculty, Mr. Dan Tomlin, has died. With us here now is his, ah, wife, Beth."

The woman who got up from a chair at the back of the stage was in an advanced stage of pregnancy, which increased Jessica's sorrow. She had long blonde hair done up in a knot at the back of her neck; even from this distance, Jessica could tell she wore no makeup, and her eyes were baggy and weary. She shuffled her slow way to Principal Figgins and the microphone, but even with the glacial pace, only a few of the assembled students had the gall to look down at cell phones or whisper to companions. The rest stared, fascinated, as if watching a dramatic scene on a reality TV show. Finally, she was at Figgins' side.

"On behalf of everyone at McKinley," the principal said, "we are very sorry for your loss. Mr. Tomlin was much beloved here, and we mourn along with you. If there is anything you need, please, don't hesitate to come to us."

Beth Tomlin nodded weakly. "Thank... thank you, Principal Figgins. Thank you everyone," she said in a raspy voice. She turned and made her way back to her seat without another word.

After a few other sympathies and bits of news, the assembly broke up. Jessica wended her way through the milling students towards the stage. As pregnant as she was, Beth Tomlin was unable to make it far when Jessica finally made it to her.

"Mrs. Tomlin?"

She looked up. "Yes?" she asked, her voice stronger than it had been just a few minutes before, tinged with curiosity.

"My name is Jessica Fletcher. I just wanted to express my condolences."

Mrs. Tomlin nodded. "Thank you." She cocked her head. "Jessica Fletcher... you wouldn't be the mystery writer, are you?"

"I am."

"Dan talked about you all last week. He was so looking forward to meeting you."

"Well, he struck me as a very decent man."

A shadow passed over Mrs. Tomlin's face as she said slowly, "Yes... Yes, he was..." She looked up sharply. "The police said you were one of the people who found him?"

Though a little surprised that Mrs. Tomlin broached the subject herself, Jessica said, "Yes, I was."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Jessica wasn't sure what to say, so she quickly changed the subject. "Did your husband have any relatives living in the area? I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for them."

She shook her head. "No... Most of Dan's family lives in Vermont. They're on their way." She reached up, running her fingers through her hair; Jessica couldn't help noticing that her nails were freshly painted. "Um... If you'll excuse me, I'm very tired, and it's been a hard few days..."

"Of course. Again, my condolences for your loss." Jessica watched thoughtfully as Mrs. Tomlin nodded acknowledgement, turned away, talked to Principal Figgins for a moment, then left the now empty gym.

"Mrs. Fletcher?" She turned to find a nervous looking redheaded woman standing behind her. "I'm Emma Pillsbury; I'm the guidance counselor here at McKinley."

"It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Pillsbury."

"I... I heard about what happened with Mr. Schuester," she said, her fingers worrying at each other. "I just wanted to thank you for helping him."

"No thanks are needed. It was the right thing to do," Jessica said.

"He's a... a good friend. The idea that he could kill anybody is absurd!" The words were more heated than Ms. Pillsbury probably intended, which roused speculation in Jessica. "He and Mr. Tomlin got along very well! If Will— If Mr. Schuester wanted to kill Mr. Tomlin, it would've been clear to everyone a long time ago."

"How well did you know Mr. Tomlin?"

Ms. Pillsbury froze dead for a brief second, but quickly shook it off. "Not... not that well. I knew _of_ him more than I knew him, if you know what I mean. Our paths didn't cross that much."

Jessica nodded. "Such a tragedy," she said sadly. "He seemed like such a nice man; I have no idea why anyone would want to kill him."

"I can't think of anyone here at McKinley who'd do such a thing either! It must've been someone outside the school — a burglar or something, and Mr. Tomlin surprised him." Jessica was pretty sure the police were hoping that to be the case. She was equally sure that absolutely nothing about the crime scene she'd come upon indicated the presence of an outside intruder. It also didn't escape Jessica that Ms. Pillsbury didn't actually agree that there was no reason someone would want to kill Mr. Tomlin. "As a guidance counselor, I like to think I'd know if someone had murderous intent..."

"Emma! There you are!" Swiftly approaching them was the same burly man she'd seen in Figgins' office the morning of the murder: Coach Tanaka. He put his arm around her shoulders and pecked her on the cheek. Ms. Pillsbury's body language was strangely... distant, putting on only a cursory smile and making no effort to return the gesture of affection, stepping away from him as soon as she could.

"Ken... This is Jessica Fletcher."

The man's eyes passed over her. "Oh, yeah. I was at your presentation last week." If there was any sign he recognized her from the principal's office, or had even noticed she'd been there in his emotional state, she didn't see it.

"Mrs. Fletcher, this is Ken Tanaka, the football coach... and my fiance."

"Oh! Congratulations to the both of you!" She shook his hand.

"Thank you," the coach replied out of what sounded like rote politeness born of some kind of distraction. Jessica wondered just what exactly was distracting him. Something to do with his anger on Friday, perhaps...?

"Have you decided on a date?"

Ms. Pillsbury opened her mouth, but Tanaka, obviously not noticing, spoke over her. "Next week Saturday," he said.

"We were just talking about Mr. Tomlin's death," Jessica said, restarting her usual conversational gambit. "Such a tragedy."

Tanaka snorted. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Did you know him very well?"

"You could say that. He—" He paused, his face shifting. "I mean, he and I didn't talk a lot, but I'd see him in the teacher's lounge every once in a while. Seemed like a nice enough guy." An odd look flickered over Emma Pillsbury's face; it was gone almost instantly, but Jessica still managed to catch it. "Hey," he said in a low voice, "is it true? Will Schuester was arrested for the murder?"

"He wasn't arrested, just asked a few questions. The police don't consider him a suspect."

"Oh." He sounded... disappointed. "Eh, I guess I should've known. He doesn't seem the type. Doesn't have the guts, you know what I mean?" The reactive furrow in Emma's brow told Jessica quite a bit. "Anyway, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Emma, we have a few things to talk about if we're going to have our wedding on time."

"Oh... Oh... right." She nodded absently to Jessica. "It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher."

"Same here," the coach said.

"Ditto," Jessica said, "and again, congratulations!" Tanaka smiled and nodded as he led Ms. Pillsbury away. "Hm."

* * *

"Actually, I think Mr. Schuester's room is right down the hall from Mr. Tomlin's."

"I'm afraid I don't think I'll ever forget where Mr. Tomlin's room is now."

David nodded sympathetically. "I'll come with you anyway." As he led her down the halls, she could sense his tension near a breaking point. She only hoped it would come quickly — and it did. "So what did you and the glee club talk about yesterday?"

"About the murder, Mr. Tomlin..." She knew he was waiting, straining, for two particular words: "and you." But she didn't add them. Her instincts told her it still wasn't quite the right time. "You were his student; did you know him well?"

"He was a pretty good teacher," David said with a shrug. "Better than most of the teachers here, anyway. Hard, but fair."

"Any idea who'd want to harm him?"

"No. I mean, I kinda hated the C he gave me on my last paper, but I don't remember him doing anything that'd make anyone want to _kill_ him... Huh." Jessica looked in the direction David was; there were students gathered in front of one of the rooms, whispering among themselves. That door had yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed across it. "If you don't mind me making kind of a sick joke, Aunt Jessica, if you were big news here, _this_ is even bigger."

Jessica nodded, thinking of the times murder had come to Cabot Cove. Even after the killer was in custody, it still remained a hot topic of conversation at the beauty parlor for at least a week.

"Mr. Schuester's room is right there," he continued, pointing a couple of doors further down the hall with a Mexican travel poster on it.

"Thank you, David." She didn't step towards the room, though; she sensed more coming.

And she got it. "Uh, Aunt Jessica, just a second..."

"Yes?"

"I'd... if there are other ways for you to get around, I'd really appreciate it..."

"Why?" It may not have been time for full revelations, but she decided this was an excellent opportunity to prod, see what happened. "Is it about the glee club?" David's expression soured. "Come now, David, I'm not stupid. I've seen your reactions. What's wrong with the glee club?"

"They're lame," David snarled. "They're losers. They're a bunch of fags..."

"David!" Jessica said sharply; David reacted with a familiar meek look of contrition. "There is nothing wrong with singing and dancing! Your Aunt Emma is a stage performer; is this what you really think of her?"

"No!" David cried in horror.

"Calling people that... that _word_ is inexcusable, and just because they have different interests than you! If I ever hear you use it again—"

"I won't!" David yelped. "I promise. I'm... I'm sorry, Aunt Jessica."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Jessica said, her shock and anger fading now that she saw her instincts had been correct: there was something very serious going on in David's head. "Really, David, there's nothing wrong with being different, in _any_ way."

David muttered a few words, mostly under his breath; Jessica only caught something about "Mom" and "Father".

"Pardon?"

"N-never mind." David shook his head as a bell rang harshly above them. "I... I gotta get to class."

"Go on. I'll see you after school." She watched him melt into the crowds, shaking her head, before turning back to the door, hoping that Mr. Schuester was free.

He, in fact, was, alone in his classroom looking over some papers at his desk. "Mrs. Fletcher!" he said brightly as he rose. "I just wanted to thank you again for your help."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me, Mr. Schuester. I was just doing the right thing."

"I admit, I was pretty worried there for a while. I wasn't sure if the police would just take the word of my students that I had an alibi. Your confirmation really helped." Mr. Schuester sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. "But..."

"But?"

"Word's gotten around about what happened, and people have been... looking at me differently. Treating me differently — almost like they're... afraid of me." Mr. Schuester sighed. "I think I'll always be under suspicion until the police find the real killer."

Jessica was afraid of that. All the more reason to press on with her own investigation. "Do you have any idea why the police zeroed in on you?"

Mr. Schuester shook his head. "I asked, but they wouldn't tell me."

"So they believe Mr. Tomlin was killed between 3:30 and 5:30?"

"Those are the times they were asking me about, so it must be."

"And nobody saw or heard a thing?"

"It was a Friday, and there was a big basketball game. The school was pretty much empty by 3:30. The janitors don't start cleaning until 6."

Jessica nodded, turning the facts over in her head. "I talked to Ms. Pillsbury earlier..."

"Emma?" Mr. Schuester raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, she was concerned about you."

Mr. Schuester reddened. "Yes, she's a... good friend."

"I understand she and Coach Tanaka are engaged."

"Yeah..." he said with a wince.

"He seems nice."

"He cares a lot about her..." The words had a faraway tone.

"He seems a little... preoccupied lately. I wonder why?"

"Wedding plans, I guess?" He twisted his own wedding ring on his finger nervously. Jessica hadn't needed the confirmation, but it was helpful.

So was Coach Tanaka's anger over Mr. Schuester? It sounded more complicated and serious than a mere love triangle...

"Yes, that must be it. But while I'm here, I wanted to ask you something: do you know anyone who'd want to harm Mr. Tomlin?"

"I've been thinking about that ever since the police called me in, and I haven't come up with anything." Mr. Schuester shrugged. "Well, maybe..."

Jessica's ears perked. "What?"

"It's just gossip, though. I usually don't pay much attention, but..."

"Even the smallest detail could be important," she replied urgently.

"Okay..." Mr. Schuester rubbed the back of his neck. "I remember hearing a couple of the other teachers talking in the teacher's lounge a few weeks ago. I don't remember who, but one of them said something along the lines that she felt sorry for Mrs. Tomlin."

"Why?"

"Sorry, that's all I caught. I didn't want to eavesdrop."

"Do you know Mrs. Tomlin?"

"Not really, but I think she used to teach here at McKinley."

Now there was new information. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think she and Dan Tomlin first met here. She left before I joined the faculty, though. Let me check my yearbooks..." He turned towards the bookshelves behind them, then turned back, as if suddenly remembering something. "Just a second, I should put these away." He picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and went to a metal filing cabinet. He took a ring of keys from his pocket, unlocked it, then opened the top drawer. "I've got so many papers, I have to keep them organized all the time, or I lose things," he remarked. "Between quizzes, tests, class notes..."

The words triggered a memory in Jessica. "Notes..."

"Hm? What was that?"

"Oh! Oh, nothing. I need to go. Thank you for your help, Mr. Schuester."

"No problem," he replied, somewhat bewildered, as Jessica hurried away.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Brittany did when Quinn and Santana joined her at the library table was plop a large roll of paper in front of them and unfurl it. It was covered in names, with colored arrows running between them.

"What's... this?" Quinn asked, already feeling dizzy just looking at it.

"I thought we'd have better luck if we had something that told us what our gossip resources are, so I made a chart," Brittany said crisply, with a touch of pride. "See, here in the center is us." She pointed in the middle of the paper, where wallet-sized pictures of the three cheerleaders were pasted on. "The red arrows show who has dirt on who. The green arrows show who is friendly with who. This way, we can figure out the best plan of attack that'll get us as much information as we can in a short time."

"So what do the rainbow stickers mean?" Santana asked.

"Nothing. I just thought they were pretty."

There was a moment of silence as they looked over the dense, complex chart.

"You're awesome," Santana said, her voice hushed in awe.

"I know," Brittany said smugly.

"Not bad," Quinn said with an approving nod. "First thing I see is that we have a few bottlenecks when it comes to getting to the faculty."

Brittany frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I noticed that. But I think we can use Justin Ross being Mr. Gatlin's teacher's pet. We can get to both the English department and the arts department from there."

"Is Justin still dating Francine Quinlan?"

"No, but they're still friends," Santana said. "And Brenda Mackie knows Justin's brother Andy."

"But isn't he a freshman? What good are they?"

"Well, he's in a club with both Myra Stewart and Charlie Dutton — and the faculty advisor is _Miss Harmon_."

"Ohhhh." Quinn nodded in understanding. "I don't think that's enough, though. If we just had something on Hanna Walters, we could use her to get to Mr. Thorpe..."

"I know her bestie. Would that help?"

The three cheerleaders froze for a second, because none of them spoke just then. They slowly turned to see Rachel standing behind them, smiling brightly.

"Can we help you?" Santana asked, annoyed.

"Actually, you should be asking me that. Then I'd answer yes." Without so much as a hint of an invitation, she sat down at the table across from the Cheerios.

"And why," Quinn said acidly, "do we need _you_?"

Rachel whipped a pen seemingly out of nowhere. "Because I..." She drew her name on the chart; Brittany glared. "... Also know Cynthia Griffin... Who is tight with Damon Sanchez... Who is a student manager for... Coach Hill!" She finished her arrows triumphantly. The other three girls stared at the new connections. "Here's where my membership in so many clubs comes in _very_ handy — for someone besides me, I mean. Now, you can swallow your pride and let me help, or you can do without the extra information and run the risk of failing, and having to tell everyone else that your 'connections' weren't as good as you thought." Rachel shrugged casually. "Your choice, but I personally think you should take all the help you can get."

Quinn, Santana, and Brittany looked at each other. Then they looked back down at the chart. Then back at each other.

Finally...

"Fine. But we're in charge of this. Got it?" Quinn growled.

"Oh, I wouldn't have it any other way!" Rachel said cheerfully. "I fully acknowledge that the three of you are much more central to the McKinley web of gossip than I am."

"Okay, then," Brittany said, a serious look on her face. "What else have you got?"

As Rachel started talking again, and filling in more names and arrows, none of the four were aware of the ominous presence watching them from the shadows. Perhaps this was fortunate — they might have faltered in their quest had they sensed the chilly eyes boring into them.

* * *

"Are you sure you can do this?"

Tina groaned, her forehead bumping against the steering wheel. " _Yes_ , I'm sure. Stop asking me already!"

"Well, I sure don't know how to tail someone!" Mercedes said.

"I've seen a hundred TV shows. How hard could it be? Nobody _expects_ people to be following them anyway!" She glanced back at the supermarket across the street where they'd tracked Mrs. Tomlin. Her car was still parked where she'd left it.

"And what are we supposed to find out, anyway?"

"I don't know! But nobody knows much about Mr. or Mrs. Tomlin, right? We have to start somewhere!" Tina looked back just in time to see the brake lights flare on Mrs. Tomlin's car. "She's on the move!" she gasped in excitement as she started up the engine.

The two girls watched the shiny silver Ford Escape turn left out of the parking lot. Tina pulled away from the curb and followed.

"You're too close!"

"I am not!"

"She's gonna see us!"

"Why the hell would she notice us?"

"You should let another car come between us in case she sees us!"

"But then we might lose her!"

"Hey, slow down! You _trying_ to get us pulled over?"

"Ohmigod, I should've made _you_ drive..."

Somehow, they made it ten miles without crashing, killing each other, or Mrs. Tomlin pulling over and demanding to know what they were doing. They actually followed the Escape without incident into one of Lima's ritzier neighborhoods.

"Whoa..." Mercedes breathed as they passed through rows of neatly manicured lawns and dazzling white facades. "Did you know Mr. Tomlin lived here?"

"No! I thought you had to have a lot of money to afford a house around here!"

"Well, _they_ can." Mercedes nodded ahead of them; the Escape was entering a driveway half a block up.

Tina pulled over. "What does Mrs. Tomlin do?"

"I asked around. As far as anybody knows, she's been staying at home so she can have her baby."

"And Mr. Tomlin could still afford to live _here_? Is he from a rich family or something?"

"I don't know..." Mercedes turned to Tina excitedly. "Do you think we've found out a clue?"

"Oooh, I hope so!" Tina squealed. "Let's go; everyone will _definitely_ wanna hear about this!"

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey."

The somewhat embarrassing part of this plan was that Finn actually _was_ having a tough time keeping his chemistry grade up. Ah, well, whatever it took, right? At least it made for a good excuse.

Mike slid onto the chair next to Finn. The two looked over their shoulders to Ms. Witten, who was sitting at her desk behind them reading over papers.

"Take all the time you need, boys," she said without looking up at them. "Especially you, Finn."

"So you ready to go over the last chapter?" Mike asked. He watched as Finn surreptitiously pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. He turned on the camera and placed the phone on the lab table in front of them, carefully angling it so it just caught Ms. Witten's image next to Finn's shoulder.

"Yeah..." He coughed. "So, uh... pretty fucked what happened to Mr. Tomlin, huh?"

Mike winced. He knew they should've practiced their lines more. But he could see on the phone screen that Ms. Witten's eyes actually flickered upward towards them, and he knew they had her. "Yeah... Who do you think did it?"

"Hell if I know. Mrs. Fletcher says that she doesn't think it was some random burglar."

And yes, she was definitely staring at them now, behind their backs. Mike could see her crane her neck to hear them better.

_She knows something. Or she really wants to know something._

Mike felt Finn's elbow nudge his side, snapping him out of his speculation to deliver his line: "Then who does she think did it, then?"

"I dunno, she wouldn't say."

"Why would someone want to kill Mr. Tomlin, anyway?"

"No idea. Mrs. Fletcher says the police are probably going over his life with a fine toothed comb trying to figure it out. If there is anyone who wanted to kill him, they'll figure it out."

The phone's camera reflected Ms. Witten's hand as it closed into a fist, crinkling the papers she was holding. Mike couldn't help but grin. _Bingo_. They got what they wanted; whatever Ms. Witten knew or didn't know, whatever she did or didn't do, she definitely had more interest in this than just as a random colleague of the victim.

Finn flashed a thumbs-up under the table. Mike returned it triumphantly.

Finn turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. He started to rise from his seat.

"Hey!" Mike hissed. "Where are you going?"

"Home. We did what we came for."

"Oh, no you don't! Your chem grade really _does_ suck, and as long as we're here, we might as well actually study."

Finn boggled. "What?!"

"If we just leave, Ms. Witten will get suspicious, right? Now sit your ass back down and open your damn book!"

Finn looked like he was on the verge of pouting as he slammed his textbook open. "You owe me."

"I think you're the one who'll owe _me_." Mike settled in. "Puck should be looking into Coach right now. Wonder how he's doing..."

* * *

Puck ripped open Tanaka's desk drawer and started rummaging.

"I thought you said you had some kind of genius plan!" Matt said nervously as he glanced out of the office door, eyes peeled for the coach's return.

"I do! This is it! Didn't Mrs. Fletcher say we gotta play to our strengths? This is mine!" He began rifling through papers.

"What do you expect to find? 'Dear diary, today I shot Mr. Tomlin'?"

"You got a better idea?" Puck snapped. "You think either of us are smart enough to get Coach talking? Besides, we gotta do _something_."

"I am doing something. Derek just hasn't gotten back to me yet."

"The guys I talked to haven't either. So we just gotta do what we can."

"Shit!" Matt barked. "He's coming!"

Puck immediately shoved what he was looking at back into the drawer and slammed it shut. The two boys ducked out the door connecting to the locker room. Matt started to pull it closed, but paused, then left it open a crack. He and Puck huddled behind the door, listening, as two sets of footsteps entered the office.

"I'm sorry, Ken, but I had to ask!"

"That's Ms. Pillsbury!" Puck hissed.

"Shh!"

"I can't believe you think I had something to do with—!" Something that sounded like paper slammed onto the surface of the desk. "Why the hell don't you trust me? Do you honestly think I would actually _kill_ —"

"No, don't be ridiculous!"

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I had to be sure! Because it would've been even more poisonous to just let the question hang between us!"

There was a dead silence. "You know," Tanaka said in an eerily calm voice, "you're right. We should be honest with each other."

Ms. Pillsbury breathed a sigh of relief. "That's right..."

"So why don't I ask _you_ the same question?" There was an edge of venomous glee in Tanaka's voice. "Did _you_...?"

"Me?!" There were so many conflicting emotions crammed into the one word that neither Puck nor Matt had any idea how to unravel them.

"What if you had enough? What if you decided you wanted to be left alone once and for all?"

Behind the cracked open door, Puck and Matt exchanged wide eyed glances.

"You actually think that _I—_ "

"Of course not! But at least now you know how I felt when you asked me!"

They heard a choking sound come from Ms. Pillsbury's throat. A long, drawn out silence followed, but nobody moved — not the people inside the office or the two outside it. Finally, Emma Pillsbury said in a weak, strained tone, "I... I think I need to go home, Ken."

Chair legs scraped across linoleum. "Did you want me to drive you...?" Tanaka's voice was quieter now, almost remorseful.

"N-no... We've had a rough couple of days. I think... I think we just need some time alone to cool down."

"Yeah..." Now his voice was almost a whisper. "Cool down... Right..."

"I..." Gulp. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ken."

The other door creaked open and snapped shut. There was no further sound, except Tanaka's reedy breaths and the creak of a chair. Puck and Matt glanced at each other and nodded, carefully picking themselves up and sneaking away.


	7. Chapter 7

"David?"

"Yeah, Aunt Jessica?"

"Mind if I ask you to help me out with something upstairs?"

David glanced at his parents; they were too busy with the TV or their smartphone to pay any attention to this utterly unremarkable exchange. "Yeah. Okay." He got up off the couch and followed his honorary aunt upstairs to the guest bedroom. Once there, Jessica shut the door behind her; David's head moved in a small nod, as if he'd expected it. "Look, I'm really sorry about earlier..."

"That wasn't the David I remember talking," Jessica said.

"The David you remember was a wimp," he muttered. "That's why I want to be called Dave now."

"David," she said, deliberately using that form of the name, "what's wrong? Please, I'm concerned!"

"You don't have to be."

"But I am! If not for you, then for the people you've been bullying!"

David's shoulders slumped; he sat in a chair by the window. "I knew they told you," he muttered. His eyes raised, wide in panic. "Please don't tell Mom and Dad..."

"Then talk to me! You threw a frozen drink at a boy's _face_! Now, that is not the David I know, and I want to know what happened to him!"

David sat motionless and silent in the chair for a long moment. Finally, he took a breath, and said, "He got tired."

Jessica sat on the edge of the bed nearest to the chair. "Tired?" she repeated gently.

"Tired of everyone pushing him around. Tired of being ignored the rest of the time. Tired of having to fight every single fucking day just to get up the energy to go to school." David rubbed his hand across his face. "Karofsky, though... Karofsky is cool. Karofsky is _somebody_..."

"He's a _bully_ ," Jessica interrupted flatly. "Is it worth it?"

"Hudson deserved it! He was a bully too! It was just payback!"

"Kurt Hummel is scared to death of you." She didn't realize the significance of David's sharp intake of breath until later. "The entire glee club is afraid of you! Don't tell me that _all_ of them are bullies?"

"They're just losers. Nobody cares about them."

"Sounds like a justification a bully would come up with," Jessica observed. "And didn't you just say you were bullied because nobody cared? Why was it not all right for you, but is all right for them?"

"I can't afford to care. This is high school, Aunt Jessica," David said grimly. "I dunno what it was like when you were teaching, but these days, it's kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten."

"A little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Try living it for a while. I... I'm just trying to _survive_. I couldn't go on the way it was freshman year. I couldn't go on with Az as my only friend. I had to change. I... I couldn't be David anymore. He's a _loser_."

"On the contrary," Jessica replied, her heart breaking at the venom in his last word, "I thought he was a good person. I think he's who you still are, deep inside." She paused. "But there's something else, isn't there?" The stiffening of David's shoulders was as good as a "yes" spoken aloud. "You wouldn't have done all of this, wanted to change this completely, just because of some teasing. What else _is_ there, David?"

David shot to his feet. "Stop asking, Aunt Jessica. Please," he said, his voice cracking. "Please stop asking me." He bolted from the room before she could move.

Now alone, Jessica shook her head in sorrow.

The next day, David greeted Jessica cheerfully at the breakfast table. He drove her to McKinley acting completely normally. But there was still this _pall_ that she could feel — that she was sure David could feel as well.

Things couldn't continue like this, not for long. She knew something would give, one way or another. The previous night, she desperately cast her memories back to Grady's teen years, hoping to find some answer or path there... She wished, not for the first time, that Frank was alive. He was the perfect sounding board: attentive, supportive, insightful...

Both mysteries were struggling for dominance in her mind. She'd expected a nice quiet visit to Ohio; how had it turned into _this_?

Her first stop was the principal's office. When she arrived, Missy was sitting at her desk; she rose immediately at her appearance. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Fletcher! Sorry, Principal Figgins is out of the office right now, but he should be back soon."

"Oh, I'm fine waiting." She sat down and watched Missy type for a few moments on her computer before deciding to probe a little. "Such a pity about Mr. Tomlin."

"I know!" Missy said, eyes wide. "I just can't believe it!"

"Did you know him very well?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I've only been working here a couple of years, but he seemed nice." Missy frowned. "Although..."

Jessica's ears pricked. "Although...?"

"You just reminded me of something."

"What?"

The secretary hesitated. "Principal Figgins doesn't like me gossiping..."

"Oh, believe me, my lips are sealed!"

Missy looked out the glass walls. Apparently seeing no sign of Principal Figgins, she leaned over her desk towards Jessica, her voice lowered. "Well... Last Friday, after my dentist's appointment, I was driving home, right? I stopped at an intersection not far from here, and there were a bunch of cars stopped right in the middle of it because the traffic on the cross street was backed up. It's one way, so this one car was stuck right in front of me, and I could see the driver clearly. I was kind of annoyed because I thought they should've kept the intersection clear, but they started moving, and the car drove away. I didn't think anything about it and just went right on home. Only yesterday..." She paused, as if savoring the suspense. "I saw that driver again. It was Mrs. Tomlin!"

Jessica sat up straighter. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I'd never met her before, but as soon as she stood up at the memorial yesterday, I knew it was her! And the road she was taking? It's the one most people use to leave McKinley!"

"Mrs. Tomlin was at McKinley last Friday?"

"Well..." Missy faltered, "I mean, I don't know for sure, but now I'm wondering, because if she was, then...?" Whatever her speculation was, it choked off as Principal Figgins strode into the office in blissful ignorance.

"So, Missy," Jessica said as she stood, in a voice that was a tad too loud to be natural, "did you give your mother the book?"

"Oh! Yes — yes, I did!" she replied at a similarly somewhat unnatural volume, shooting Jessica a grateful look. "She loved it. Everyone at the party was so impressed! Thank you so much!"

"Ah, hello, Mrs. Fletcher," Figgins said amiably. "Did you want to speak with me?"

"Yes, I did." She followed Figgins into his office. "I just wanted to ask if there was anything I could do to help poor Mrs. Tomlin."

Figgins shook his head sadly. "Yes, I can't imagine what she must be going through right now. Well, some of the teachers and students are putting together a fundraiser for her and her child..."

"That's a wonderful idea. I'd be happy to contribute!"

"Ms. Pillsbury, our guidance counselor, is in charge of it, so you should talk to her."

Jessica smiled inwardly at the natural opening. "Ah, yes, I met her yesterday. At least her news should be a welcome respite from the tragedy last week."

"Pardon?"

"Her engagement? To Coach Tanaka?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, her engagement, of course! Yes, it's always nice when McKinley can help educators in their personal lives as well as the professional!"

"I spoke to him yesterday too. Coach Tanaka, I mean. He seemed very nice. Not at all like Friday..."

"Yes... such temper is most unlike him. Especially to me," Figgins harrumphed.

"Then I wonder what was bothering him so much."

"Ah... I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, I can't talk about, um, personnel issues."

It was worth a try. "Oh, don't mind me, Principal Figgins. Writers are some of the nosiest people on the planet!" Figgins smiled absently and nodded. "I'm so glad that McKinley is coming together to support Mrs. Tomlin. I understand she used to work here?"

"Yes, she did. I think I remember hiring her. Fine teacher." The compliment felt more automatic than thought out — mealy and mushy.

"You have so many fine teachers here. I also met Ms. Witten earlier. She teaches chemistry, I believe...?"

Figgins coughed, though Jessica had no doubt it was not because he was at all ill. "Yes... Yes, she is..." There was hesitation in his voice that was _definitely_ instinctive; Jessica's own instincts told her that whatever the origin of the reaction, it had little to nothing to do with her job performance. Interesting, but she doubted Figgins would say anything more about either woman, given how... sensitive he seemed to be to his position as principal. As it turned out, she was entirely correct. "Anyway. Yes, Ms. Pillsbury is the person you want to speak to. I'd love to chat some more, Mrs. Fletcher, but I'm really very busy."

"Of course." She was halfway out of her chair when she hesitated. "By the way, do you know a David Karofsky? He's a sophomore here."

Figgins frowned. "The name does sound familiar..."

"He hasn't caused any... disciplinary problems here, has he?"

"No... Not that I recall. Why?"

"Oh, just writer's curiosity again. Thank you, Principal."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Fletcher." With her back turned as she left the office, she didn't see Figgins watch her as she left, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

* * *

"The police came by this morning," Kurt said eagerly as he and Jessica wended their way through the halls of McKinley. It was the middle of second period (and Jessica only mostly believed Kurt when he said he had it free), so they were quite alone. "And when they left, the crime scene tape on Mr. Tomlin's room was gone! I think they released it!"

"Then let's just hope nobody's locked the door yet."

"What are you looking for?"

"Well, it's a long shot, but when I first met Mr. Tomlin, he had a notebook. He put it into his jacket pocket, but I'm pretty sure that when we discovered his body, that pocket was empty."

"You think the killer took it?" Kurt asked, his eyes wide.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's still somewhere in that room. It might not be important, but I'd like to make sure." When they arrived at Mr. Tomlin's room, they saw that indeed, the crime scene tape that barred entry was no longer there. She looked about, as did Kurt; no one was around. "Cross your fingers, Kurt," she said as she reached out for the doorknob. It turned, and the door swung quietly open.

"Yes!" Kurt hissed in a low voice.

Inside, she half expected to see those legs again, sticking out from the far side of the desk, but there was nothing there. There was evidence of recent activity — fingerprint powder, dried spots that might have been from luminol — but otherwise, it was much the same as she remembered it that fateful Friday afternoon.

"What should I do, Mrs. Fletcher?"

"Look around. See if you can find it. It was small and covered in black leather."

Kurt wandered the perimeter of the room, looking over bookshelves filled with books. "The police might've found it and taken it."

"In that case, I'm wasting both our time. But like I said, I just want to be sure." She shook her head. "Motive is still bothering me. If we could just find something — anything — to put us on the right track..."

Kurt stared at the shelves for a minute, then said, "Well, if I were him, I'd have kept it in my desk..." He took a step forward towards the desk, but hesitated. Jessica knew exactly what he was remembering. He shook his head and completed the short distance.

"Yes, but it's also one of the first places the police would've searched," Jessica mused. "If it was there, it was probably found."

"Maybe." He pulled open a drawer as Jessica slowly paced the room's perimeter. "Nothing much here. Papers, pens, another book..."

"There are a lot of places where he could've hidden it," Jessica said thoughtfully. "Too many. I'm sorry, Kurt, but I think I just led you on a wild goose—"

"Mrs. Fletcher..." Kurt's voice was shaky; she immediately turned. Kurt's trembling fingers held up a small black notebook. "Is... is this it?"

Jessica gasped. "I think so!" She hurried towards him; only now did she see that he also held an open book in his hands. "Where did you find it?"

"Well..." Kurt still sounded dazed. "I was remembering the books..." He nodded towards the bookcase to his right. "... And I noticed something. The ones he has on the shelves are by Arthur Conan Doyle, Ellery Queen, Dorothy Sayers, all fiction, but then I saw this in his desk drawer..."

Jessica looked down at the book in his hands; the middle of it had been cut out, forming a small, crude "safe". " _In Cold Blood._ Nonfiction."

"The only one. I thought it was a little odd, so I decided to take a chance, and..." He shrugged weakly.

"Yes, of course, he wouldn't have wanted to run the risk of a student actually reading it. Excellent job, Kurt!" she said.

Kurt smiled. "Really? I thought it was just luck..."

"All detective work requires just a touch of luck. It certainly never hurts!" They flipped through the notebook. All they saw was pages upon pages of numbers and letters written in a small, cramped hand.

"None of this makes any sense to me," Kurt said.

"Me neither," Jessica said. "But it must be important. Take a picture with your phone." Kurt nodded and took out his smartphone. "We'll figure out some way to get the police's attention to this without drawing too much to ourselves."

"And then...?"

"And then... I think it's time we see what your friends have discovered."

* * *

That afternoon, after school, David took Jessica to Kurt's house once more.

Neither noticed the Honda following them. Tina was absolutely right — most people have no reason to look for a car following them, so they usually don't notice.

This time, Jessica sensed that David would not be persuaded to enter the Hummel house, so she acquiesced when he told her his intention of going home.

"Just call me when you're done," he said.

"I will." She watched him drive off, a frown of concern returning for a moment, before she went into the house.

The anticipation inside was electric. Everyone looked like they were either dying to hear what someone else would say, or dying to say something themselves. Jessica quickly called the meeting to order, and started with her and Kurt's discovery.

"Does anyone know what this means?" She nodded, and Kurt passed around his phone with the photos he'd taken of the notebook's contents. All they got were squints, frowns, and shakes of heads until...

"Yeah. These are betting lines."

All attention was immediately on Puck. "Betting lines?"

"Yeah, like this one here: it's for the Thanksgiving game between Dallas and Seattle. This is who's favored and by how much, and this is the over/under on the score."

Jessica only partially understood what he was saying, but she understood enough. "Then Mr. Tomlin was gambling?"

"See, I don't think so. There's a lot of erasing and rewriting here... Like he was actually trying to set the lines himself." He looked up from the screen. "I think Mr. Tomlin was a bookie."

"Bookie?" Quinn echoed. "Isn't there the Internet now for that kind of stuff?"

"Yeah, but sports betting is illegal most places. Besides, even if you could do it online, a lot of people like being able to place a bet quick and get their money right away." Puck frowned thoughtfully. "Hey, y'know... I had a... Not exactly a friend, but someone I know, said that if I wanted to get in on some action, he knew a guy... Wonder if that could've been Mr. Tomlin?"

Tina snapped her fingers. "So that's how he afforded that nice house!"

"Yeah!" Mercedes cried. "He lives in that fancy development on the other side of town! Way better than what most teachers have!"

"Motive!" Kurt cried.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jessica said. "I want to gather as much information as we can before we come to any conclusions. But this definitely _is_ promising. Puck, you should confirm with your friend."

He nodded. "On it."

"Let's move on for now. Matt, you had something to report?"

Matt Rutherford nodded. "I talked to Derek, and he managed to get something out of his dad about Mr. Schuester. It's not much, but it sounds like they found the murder weapon."

"Where? When?"

"Sometime during the weekend. It was in one of the Dumpsters. I don't know how they connected it to Mr. Schue, but I did hear it was a .22 — old model."

"Does Mr. Schuester own a gun?"

"No," Rachel said immediately. The silence that followed told everyone that she didn't plan on explaining how she was so sure.

"Then if there hasn't been another arrest, the police likely can't trace ownership," Jessica said thoughtfully. "Probably bought out of state. Nearly impossible to trace, if there was no serial number and it was old." She turned towards Quinn, Brittany, and Santana. "You three said you'd discovered something that might help...?"

"Four, actually," Rachel said.

"Yep!" Santana said with a grin, ignoring the interruption. "This was a toughie, because we had to access the faculty grapevine..."

"But it wasn't anything we couldn't handle," Quinn finished.

"Thanks partly to me," Rachel added.

"It took us a few favors," Brittany said, "but we didn't mind. We wouldn't have gotten our intel without them."

"Which is?" Kurt asked impatiently.

"Well..." Quinn's voice automatically lowered, as if she were in the cafeteria imparting a tidbit about that new student in 4th period math, "you know how he and Mrs. Tomlin met at McKinley when they were both teaching?" Most of the others didn't seem to, but Jessica did. "From what we heard, he never stopped trolling the faculty, even after he got married."

Puck and Matt whispered between themselves. "Oh?" Jessica said encouragingly.

"Rumor is that he hit on Ms. Murphy, the art teacher, a couple of months ago," Brittany said. "We didn't hear any other names, but it sure sounds like there are probably more."

"What are we talking about here?" Tina asked. "Was he like Mr. Ryerson, or...?"

"Nothing like that, as far as we can tell," Santana said. "No students. It sounds like he did know the meaning of the word 'no'. Except if the question is, 'Are you gonna stop stepping out on your wife?'."

"Ms. Pillsbury!"

The cry from Puck drew everyone's attention. "What about her?" Mike blinked. "You mean...?"

"It fits," Matt agreed, then laid out the basics of the argument they'd overheard between Coach Tanaka and Ms. Pillsbury. There was a contemplative, somewhat uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, it does fit," Jessica mused. "It would certainly explain the discussion Coach Tanaka and Mr. Figgins had on Friday."

"Another motive," Kurt said.

"And a good one," Jessica agreed. "Artie, have you seen any footage of my talk last Friday yet?"

"Not yet. I'm meeting Jacob tonight."

"Then there's something I want you to look for. Or rather, _someone_..."

Another half hour later, and the meeting was concluded. But as they were about to break up, Jessica hesitated. "One last thing..." The gathered teenagers sat. "I'd like to ask a somewhat... personal question, but I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourselves that I brought it up."

The kids glanced at each other. "Sure," Artie finally said. "What?"

"How many of you know David Karofsky?"

Most of the boys raised their hands, two with distinctly sour looks on their faces. Only a couple of the girls did.

"Well, kind of," Mike said. "I mean, I know who he _is_ , but I don't know him real well." There seemed to be general agreement on that point among the group.

"As some of you know, I've known him for a very long time; I'm staying with his family here in Lima, and I'm concerned about some of his behavior lately. I thought it might help me to understand if I knew more about what he's like at school, especially last year, before all this started."

The kids glanced at each other once more.

"Honestly..." Matt began, "I don't think I know anything that could help."

"Like I said, I know who he is, but not who he _is_ , if you know what I mean," Mike said with an agreeing nod.

"We went to the same elementary school," Finn said, "but in middle school... I dunno... I don't remember much about him."

"It's that hockey team, man," Puck snarled. "The second he joined that team, he got some balls. Uh... No offense, Mrs. Fletcher."

"Actually, that's a good point," Quinn said. "Before he Slushied us, I don't think I ever thought of him."

"I knew his name," Finn said, "but only because it was weird, and like I said, we went to the same schools. We weren't friends or anything — not really."

"You know how people like to talk," Brittany said, "but I never heard anything about him. It's like he... I dunno, didn't exist until a few months ago."

Jessica nodded slowly. She'd learned a little, but not enough, not by far. She knew — _knew_ — there was a key piece of this puzzle missing.

Murder and teenagers — two of the greatest mysteries throughout human history.

* * *

David picked her up promptly. It didn't escape her attention that he waited outside for her to come out. "How'd it go?" he asked as she buckled herself in.

"Well, we have some leads, but frankly, the whole situation is still as opaque as before."

David grunted, glancing in his rearview mirror as they drove away. Jessica did so as well, hoping to see what he was looking at, but there was too much there. But if she had to guess, the center of his attention was the Hummel house — especially since once they turned the corner, and it disappeared from sight, his eyes returned to the road where they belonged.

It felt like a fragile time in that car. Jessica was reasonably certain that the last thing David wanted to do was to continue their conversation from the previous night. But it was, at the same time, the elephant in the room that sucked out most of the air by merely existing. If she had that missing piece, she'd know what to say, how to approach him, but as it was, she'd be flailing in the dark, and likely cause David to shut down even more. No, she had to have some idea first, some direction. But where was she going to find it...?

"Hey, Aunt Jessica...?"

A spark of hope burned in her chest at his initiation of conversation. "Yes?"

"That car behind us... I think it's following us."

Jessica glanced in the rearview mirror. Yes, it was indeed the same car that she'd noticed behind them when they first left the Hummel house. Of course, that didn't mean anything by itself, but Jessica had been followed on the road enough times to gain a certain... _instinct_ , and hers told her that David's was on the money.

It was also, she felt, confirmation where David's attention was earlier. He probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if he hadn't pulled away from the Hummel house still watching it for... what? Or who?

But that was a question for another time.

"Can you make out who's driving it?" she asked.

"No... Here." Keeping one hand on the wheel, David took his smartphone out of his pocket. "You know how to work the camera?"

"I think so... Which button is it...?"

"Swipe left. No, other way... Okay, it's that one on the bottom. Then tap that icon there... Okay, now you can take a picture without turning around."

Jessica carefully held up the phone, trying to keep it out of view of the driver behind them, and quickly snapped a picture. A little blurry, and not enough to identify the driver or the license plate number, but enough to perhaps place the car later if they were lucky.

"Damn... Someone really is following us?" David rasped.

"I think so."

"You think it's about Mr. Tomlin's murder?"

"I can't think of any other reason why."

"Do you think...?" He swallowed. "Do you think we're in any danger?"

Jessica wished to the heavens that she could answer with a confident "no." But she couldn't.

* * *

"This is it?"

"Yes..." Jacob ben Israel accidentally kicked the wheel of Artie's chair; Artie glared in annoyance. "What are you looking for?"

"None of your business," Artie muttered as he stared at the computer screen, images flickering across his glasses.

"Hey, I'm doing you a favor!" ben Israel whined.

"And you're gonna get what I promised, just as long as you keep quiet. That also means no asking stupid questions." With that, Artie returned his attention fully to the footage. It was of the talk on Friday, almost at the end; Mrs. Fletcher was answering a question on stage. "You did take shots of the audience, right?"

"Yeah, I should be panning over to them soon."

And indeed it did, shifting over to the auditorium seating. The lighting wasn't the best, but it was enough to make out faces. Artie squinted as he slowed down the playback. Karofsky was there, of course. And there was Mr. Schuester in the third row, next to Kurt. Behind him were Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Tanaka sitting together. There, as the camera panned upwards, towards the back of the house... That was Ms. Witten in the middle row (though her attention was definitely not on Mrs. Fletcher; apparently she was looking at someone elsewhere on the stage). Huh, there was Coach Sylvester a couple of seats away. But so far, he couldn't see the person Mrs. Fletcher told him to look for...

_There!_

He quickly hit pause, his lips curling into a triumphant smirk. "Jackpot." The figure in the back corner, hovering near the doors, was mostly in shadow, but Artie was sure — the face was visible enough to make the ID, but the baby bump definitely confirmed it.

Yes, Mrs. Beth Tomlin was definitely at McKinley the day of the murder.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, David was relieved of his usual driving duties. After a pair of phone calls to glee club members the previous night, she hoped that Kurt would be more helpful to answer an important question.

"It's a Honda," Kurt said immediately, handing back the printout Jessica made of the photo from David's phone. "2000 Prelude."

"Are you sure?"

Kurt nodded as he pulled away from the curb in front of the Karofsky home. "I'd stake my dad's reputation as a mechanic on it."

"My, I'm very impressed, Kurt!"

Kurt shrugged with more than a little false modesty. "I have layers."

"We all do," she said with a chuckle.

The first thing she did when Kurt dropped her off at McKinley was to seek out the guidance counselor's office. She knocked on the door.

"Come in." Emma Pillsbury looked up as Jessica entered. "Mrs. Fletcher! I didn't expect to see you here!"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Pillsbury, but I wanted to talk."

Ms. Pillsbury's bright eyes widened. "Well, I'm trained to work with teenagers and their issues, but if you just wanted someone to listen..."

She sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Actually, it's _about_ a teenager. One I know, who used to be so very kind and bright and shy, but now seems to go out of his way to try to be a _big man_. It's totally unlike him, and I have no idea where it came from."

"I see. Well, it sounds like you don't want to betray any confidences, but there's not a lot of detail to go on..."

"Any general thoughts you had would be splendid."

"All right." Ms. Pillsbury mused for a moment. "Does anyone else in his family have any opinions?"

"They don't seem to notice. He generally seems normal at home."

"Hm. If it is as drastic a personality change as you say, and if it's limited to school, there's probably some kind of central precipitating issue or event. You most likely need to find out what that is to make headway."

It was as Jessica thought, but it was good to have professional confirmation. "I see."

"Is there anything else?"

Now that she seemed comfortable, it was time to get to her central purpose. "Actually, I had a question about you."

"Me? What is it?"

"You said you didn't know Mr. Tomlin very well."

She distinctly paled at the very mention of the name. "I... I don't."

"And I'm sure that's the truth. But that doesn't keep certain... things from happening. Nor, I expect, did his marriage, or your engagement."

Stunned silence ensued. Jessica hadn't been sure that being direct would work, but she'd hoped it would. "Wh— who told you?!"

"Nobody. But I was in Principal Figgins' office when Coach Tanaka confronted him. He was very angry about something, and when I heard rumors about Mr. Tomlin's wandering eye... Well, I put two and two together."

"But nothing _happened_!" Ms. Pillsbury wailed. "It's all—" She took a deep calming breath before continuing. "I knew telling Ken was a mistake. But I felt like he had to know, and honestly, I'm not the best person at keeping secrets."

"So what did happen?"

"He didn't harass me or assault me, if that's what you're thinking. He just tried to..." She shuddered. "Seduce me."

"He knew you were engaged."

"And I knew he was married. But he was _shameless_! He said it was no big deal, as if promises and vows didn't matter!" She sat up straight in her chair. "I told him no, of course, and to leave me alone. And he did... mostly."

"That's why you didn't want to say anything to Principal Figgins." Ms. Pillsbury nodded. It was a tragically old story, to be sure. "You said he 'mostly' left you alone?"

"He wanted to make sure I knew that the offer remained open if I 'ever changed my mind'. It wasn't anything I could stop or anticipate — just a... a _look_ occasionally in the hallway or something like that. Nothing more than that. But Ken saw one of those times, and... Let's just say that was another reason I felt I had to tell him."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No! The only other person I could've told was Will, and he..." She shook her head. "I couldn't," she said in a small voice.

Jessica decided to let it go; it was probably unrelated to the investigation. Probably. "When did this happen?"

"Last Monday." Jessica couldn't help but notice that it was the same day she arrived in Lima. She distantly wondered if there was some kind of cosmic connection, a string connecting the events... But she quickly dismissed such speculations. Not only were they useless and counterproductive, but the answer was undoubtedly "no".

"Did you ever hear of anyone else he... approached like he did with you?"

"No, I don't think so..." Ms. Pillsbury stared at Jessica for a long second. "I know why you're asking. I suppose what he did could've made me want to kill him. But I didn't."

"And Ken Tanaka...?"

She hesitated — a very distinct hesitation that even Emma Pillsbury, Jessica was sure, could feel. But she quickly said, "You don't know him like I do, Mrs. Fletcher. So much of his attitude is just an act for his football team..."

"But not all?"

Ms. Pillsbury's lips pursed. "Mrs. Fletcher," she said in a firm voice that still bore the echoes of suppressed quavering, "I'd like to ask you not to spread around what happened to me. Dan Tomlin is dead, and it's no use dredging up the past now. Neither Ken or I had anything to do with his death."

She sounded much more sure now than Puck and Matt seemed to think she did when they overheard her. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it." She stood; Ms. Pillsbury did the same.

"If... if I _had_ done it, do you think I would've let Will Schuester take the blame?" she asked. "Do you really think I would've let a friend go to prison for something I did?"

"I'm a stranger here, Ms. Pillsbury. I'm not here to judge anybody. I just want to know the truth. As does, I'm sure, Mr. Schuester."

Ms. Pillsbury's jaw dropped, her voice and posture faltering. "Y-yes... Of course."

"Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Ms. Pillsbury." She left the office, leaving behind an almost oppressive atmosphere she was sure would linger for a while.

As she went down the hall, Jessica was so deep in thought that she felt, rather than saw, the presence nearby. She looked up, turning; a tall thin blonde woman wearing a bright red tracksuit was standing there, staring at her.

"You're Jessica Fletcher?" the woman asked flatly.

"Ah... Yes, I am. And you are...?"

"Sue Sylvester. Cheerleading coach." She gave Jessica a harsh, appraising look that was frankly quite uncomfortable. "I like your books. They've given me good ideas."

"Oh, are you a writer too?"

"No." Jessica had no idea how to respond; fortunately, Coach Sylvester went on without waiting for a reply. "I understand you're looking into Dan Tomlin's murder."

"Oh? Where did you get that understanding?"

"I pay attention," Coach Sylvester replied. "Same as you."

"So do you... want to help? Do you know something?"

"No, which is extremely annoying. Almost as annoying as Raggedy Andy dolls walking around this school pretending to be educators." She stepped forward towards Jessica, who had to fight the urge to step back. "I don't know anything about the murder. I just thought that if you could use a... push in the right direction, I'll give it if I can."

"Oh, you don't think Mr. Schuester committed the crime?"

Coach Sylvester responded by throwing back her head and laughing, a sound more chilling than mirthful. When she was done, her face was once more set like stone. "The only thing William Schuester is capable of killing is the love of music in anything with two ears and a soul."

"Did you know Mr. Tomlin?"

"He was beneath my notice. But the police are poking around way too much for my liking. I want them gone ASAP, and helping you seems to be the best way." She looked down at Jessica, her contemptuous neutrality not shifting in the slightest. "So you get a freebie. Make it good."

Jessica considered. "Well, if you don't know anything about the murder or Mr. Tomlin..."

"No, except that he had a little side business."

That could've meant the women or the gambling. Or both. Regardless, it was something Jessica knew about already, so she decided to take a chance. "Do you happen to know someone who works at McKinley who drives a red 2000 Honda Prelude?"

"Cecelia Witten," Coach Sylvester said immediately. "She teaches chemistry."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "You knew that off the top of your head?"

"Knowing whose cars are whose comes in handy."

_Who_ is _this woman?_ Jessica thought. But letting any potential source of information go untapped at this point was foolish. "And do you know anything about Ms. Witten herself?"

"Her family has big bucks, but they're controlling and conservative. I think she's just trying to keep her head down until her daddy dies and she can inherit. _Anything_ that threatens that would cost her a fortune."

Jessica waited for more, but more was not forthcoming. In fact, Coach Sylvester stood stock still, her expression not changing one iota. Jessica coughed. "Well, then, thank you for the information, coach."

"My pleasure," she replied in a tone that implied absolutely no pleasure whatsoever. Without any other niceties, she turned and stalked away. Jessica couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as she departed.

A few minutes later, as Jessica waited outside Ms. Witten's lab for the period to end, she mused on how to approach her. Most of the times, though, she did her best judgments on the fly, after talking to the other individual for a while, getting a feel for their personality and mood. By the time the bell rang, she had her plans in place.

She fought the tide of teenagers to gain access to the room. The lab's air still held the tinge of chemicals. "Ms. Witten?" she asked; the addressed woman looked up at her, startled.

"Mrs. Fletcher, right? I went to your presentation. It was very interesting."

"Thank you, but we also met earlier that day. I was with Mr. Tomlin...?"

Ms. Witten stared at Jessica for a moment. "Ah. Is that what this is about?" She put down her papers and crossed her arms. "I've read about your... reputation on the Internet, Mrs. Fletcher. If there's something you want to ask, ask. I've got nothing to hide. Make it quick; I have work to do before my next class."

"Well, then..." Jessica hesitated a moment, but then decided to take her at her word. "Why were you following me yesterday?"

"Who said I was?"

"I saw your car. I thought you said you had nothing to hide?"

"Fine, I was curious. Is that a crime? Aren't you poking your nose into this for the same reason?"

"My reasons are my own," Jessica said. "But even so, most people aren't curious enough about a colleague's murder to tail somebody." Ms. Witten didn't reply. "What was Mr. Tomlin to you?"

"A colleague. That's it."

"And your discussion on Friday morning?"

"None of your business. It has nothing to do with what happened to him. I may have nothing to hide, but I do like my privacy."

"Yet you still felt compelled to follow me," Jessica noted mildly.

"Like I said, you have a reputation."

"And you wanted to know if I'd found out anything that could connect you to Mr. Tomlin's death?"

"Your words, not mine."

Jessica stared thoughtfully. Throughout the entire conversation, Ms. Witten's expression and tone hadn't shifted one bit. It seemed that she was more than prepared to withstand whatever Jessica could throw at her. Perhaps, then, it was time to shift gears. "Do you know Mrs. Tomlin?"

There was a distinct moment of hesitation before she answered. "Very well, actually. We started teaching at McKinley at the same time. We became good friends."

Jessica wondered if the hesitation meant that Ms. Witten had considered lying. If so, why? "Ah, so is that why you were following me? Your interest in your friend's husband's death?"

"If you like to think so."

"You must consider her a very good friend."

"Yes, I do."

Obviously, she would learn nothing more about the shadowing, so Jessica went on. "So I assume you got to know Mr. Tomlin through his wife?"

"Somewhat, yes. But Beth is my friend, not him, so we really didn't socialize. I ran into him occasionally here, of course, but we never really talked."

"Except Friday morning." Ms. Witten's lip curled. "Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill Mr. Tomlin?"

This was more a probe for Ms. Witten's reaction than a genuine search for information. Ms. Witten's brief moment of hesitation was all the more significant, then, for being a break, however small, in her cool demeanor up to that point. "Not offhand. I certainly didn't have any reason."

"So Friday morning...?"

"Minor disagreement. Like I said, nothing to do with his death."

"Then perhaps you can tell me a little bit more about some of the other people here at McKinley. Maybe it'd help give me a better direction if I knew the lay of the land." There was no assent, but there was no objection either. "For example, I met Coach Tanaka and Ms. Pillsbury the other day..."

Ms. Witten snorted, shaking her head. "She's making a big mistake there. Not because Tanaka's a bad man or anything, but... Let's just say I'm almost certain that she really doesn't want to get married to him."

"Principal Figgins seems quite nice as well."

"Principal Figgins is useless," Ms. Witten said bluntly. "He's the school board's lapdog. He's in charge because he kisses up to 'em and doesn't complain, even when he should." She shrugged. "Then again, he's never done wrong by me, so maybe I shouldn't talk. And I've always thought he actually has more guts than he lets on. Not sure if that makes it better or not." Ms. Witten scratched her cheek; that was when Jessica finally realized what about her had been poking at the corner of her mind.

"Oh, dear! Your fingertips are stained!"

Ms. Witten looked down at her yellow tipped fingers, startled. "Oh. Yes. Well, it's an occupational hazard when you work with chemicals." She clasped her hands behind her back. "Is that all, Mrs. Fletcher? I have a class to prepare for."

"I have nothing else. Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Witten."

Jessica turned to go, but Ms. Witten's voice stopped her. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish, Mrs. Fletcher? What's your interest here?"

She turned back. "The truth, Ms. Witten. A man is dead, and another man has unjustly come under suspicion for his death."

"Oh, yeah. Schuester. I heard about him. Are you sure he didn't do it?"

"Positive. And the police think so too."

"I see. Good day, Mrs. Fletcher." Ms. Witten sat down at her desk and began looking over papers, a clear sign of dismissal.

"Good day." She left, her mind still churning.

* * *

After meeting with some of the glee club members for updates, Jessica took a cab back to the Karofsky home. It was late afternoon when David returned. "Hey, Aunt Jessica. How's the investigation going?"

"Honestly, I'm starting to run out of options. I'd like to talk to Mr. Schuester again, see if he has any other ideas on why he was singled out by the police. David, could you drive me to his house?"

"Uh, I don't know where he lives..."

There it was: the perfect excuse. "Then take me back to the Hummel house. I'll ask Kurt. It might be better to have him with me anyway, to help Mr. Schuester open up."

"Okay. Is he gonna drive you there?"

"Actually, I'd like you to drive the both of us."

David froze. "Uh, I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Look, David, whatever is going on, I think that you and I both know that your bullying has to stop. If forcing you and Kurt together leads to some kind of apology, some kind of _truce_ , then I'm going to take it."

"I won't do anything to them again, Aunt Jessica, I swear..."

"Then you'll have no problems driving us." A bead of sweat actually crawled down one of David's sideburns. "David," she said kindly, "I would consider it a personal favor if you could make amends. I don't think you're irredeemable, and I don't think that... that _bully_ is who you really are. But I'd like to see you prove it, to me and to the people you've hurt." She reached out and took one of David's limp, clammy hands. "Please."

David looked blankly down at their hands; Jessica wondered what he was thinking... or perhaps, remembering. Finally, he nodded — shallowly, painfully, but he nodded. "Okay," he said hoarsely. "Okay."

* * *

The smile on Kurt's face when he left his house immediately vanished when he saw who was driving the waiting car. "Uh... You didn't say that _he_ was going to..."

"Trust me, Kurt, you are in absolutely no danger. Come on." Jessica stepped down the walk towards the car. After a reluctant moment, she heard Kurt follow.

She, of course, got into the front seat; Kurt got in behind her, despite it facing away from the sidewalk. The moment the car doors slammed shut, a heavy pall descended inside. From the view Jessica got in the rearview mirror, Kurt was skittish, like a trapped rat. David's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Well, this needed to be addressed, but after the work was done. "Kurt, can you give us directions?"

Kurt jumped in his seat. "What? Oh! Yes, yes, I can. Start by going east towards Spring."

David grunted and started up the car. As they drove, the atmosphere grew heavier and heavier, becoming almost a physical weight. Jessica knew something had to give, and it did — before she had a chance to react and stop it. "I'm not gonna kill you, you know," David growled to the rearview mirror. "So stop looking at me like I'm gonna dump your body in the woods somewhere."

Jessica saw Kurt try to collect himself, suppress his nervousness under an air of snotty bravado. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice carrying only the hint of a tremor, "I guess I should be more relaxed around someone who's assaulted my friends!"

"I haven't done anything to you!"

"That's not the _point_!" Kurt exhaled. "Mrs. Fletcher seems to think you're a good person, so I have no choice but to believe her. But you're going to have to prove it."

David looked like he wanted to respond, but he didn't. He just drove in silence, not even responding to Kurt's occasional directions, until they rolled to a stop in front of Mr. Schuester's house.

"Looks like he's home," Kurt remarked. "I don't see Mrs. Schuester's car, though..."

"Why don't you wait here, David, while Kurt and I talk to Mr. Schuester." He nodded as Jessica and Kurt alighted and went up to the front door. Jessica pressed the doorbell. Long seconds passed without an answer.

"Strange, I know I saw someone in there..." Kurt rang the doorbell again, then knocked. "Mr. Schuester! Mr. Schuester, it's Kurt and Mrs. Fletcher!"

Finally, the door was opened by a sweaty Will Schuester. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I can't talk right now..."

"Please, Mr. Schuester," Jessica said, "this could be important."

"I'm really sorry, but you should go."

Kurt squinted. "Mr. Schue, what's the matter?"

"Nothing!"

"No, seriously, what's going—"

"Oh, just come the fuck on in already!" a voice roared. Mr. Schuester's shoulders drooped, and the door swung open wider. It revealed Ken Tanaka standing behind him.

He was holding a gun.


	9. Chapter 9

Dave chewed on his thumbnail before realizing what he was doing and dropping his hand in disgust. He hadn't done that in years; why'd he start now?

But then, he knew why, didn't he?

He found himself regretting that his Aunt Jessica had ever come, guilt at the thought mixing in with the toxic stew that had been his emotions of late.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, staring up at the house. There was no movement in the windows.

What the hell was taking so long?

His agitation and impatience grew. His mind filled in the silence with all the thoughts and feelings that had been roiling in him for the past three months — thoughts and feelings he didn't want to think or feel. He pounded a fist onto the dashboard and turned on the radio. After a few futile seconds of trying to find some distraction, he turned it off in disgust and pulled his keys from the ignition.

He was going to be as bored as shit listening to Aunt Jessica and Hummel question Mr. Schue, but at least he'd have _something_ to take him out of his own head...

* * *

"Over there." Tanaka waved his gun towards the living room couch. Even at this distance, it was plain from Tanaka's words, demeanor, and most of all, smell that he was utterly, dangerously drunk.

The two wide-eyed visitors obeyed. They joined nervous hands; neither could remember later who reached for the other first. "Coach Tanaka, please..." Jessica began.

"I don't have a problem with either of you," was the wavering response. "Just _him_!" He thrust the gun in Mr. Schue's direction; the poor man paled at the mere gesture. "You know what happened to me? Do... do you?"

Mr. Schue obviously did, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. "Why don't you relax," Jessica said. "Sit down, and—"

"She broke it off!" he sobbed, his face red with both anger and booze. "The wedding is _off_! Our engagement is _over_! And it's all _his_ fault!" He turned a baleful eye to Mr. Schuester, who cowered back.

"Coach Tanaka, you don't want to do this!" Jessica gasped.

Tears ran from Tanaka's eyes. "I did everything for her, you know? I tried my best, but nothing was ever good enough. It was always _you_ , Schuester! You!" The gun trembled in his hand, as did the man on the wrong end of it. Jessica felt Kurt's hand squeeze hers tightly.

"Coach Tanaka," Jessica pleaded, "you've been under a lot of stress—"

"I'm broken," Tanaka muttered. "Broken. Everything. Stupid Tomlin. This is all his fault..."

Intrigue sprang into Jessica's breast unbidden. From Kurt's expression, he apparently had a similar reaction. "Tell us," she said gently, as if speaking softly to a rabid dog.

"Emma told me... We argued so much over the bastard... If it wasn't for him, maybe..." The gun wavered, but not enough. "It's all his fault! We could've been happy!" Tanaka's jaw set. "I'm _glad_ he's dead!" he snarled.

"So it's not Mr. Schuester's doing!" Jessica said quickly. "You don't want to hurt anyone, so please, put the gun down... Relax. We can talk..." Jessica stopped cold — not because of Tanaka, but because of who appeared in the hallway behind him: David, his eyes wide. "Uh... Coach Tanaka..."

"Shut up!" he cried. "Shut up and just... just lemme think..."

"Coach," Kurt finally spoke up, his throat sounding dry and raspy, "I... I'm scared. I'm really really scared." Jessica had no doubt he was, but she definitely had the sense he was playing it up, at least a little. Maybe it would break through to him. Maybe not. Her eyes were focused not on Coach Tanaka, but the teenager staring pale over his shoulder.

To their surprise, Coach Tanaka said, "I'm sorry," in a high pitched tone almost approaching Kurt's. "I screw everything up and I don't know how to make it better..."

"You can start," Jessica said carefully, "by putting the gun down."

"But if I do that, I'll be in trouble," he whined.

"I don't think any of us are going to tell anyone, are we?" Both Kurt and Mr. Schuester replied with emphatic shakes of the head. "Just put the gun down. We can get you home and pretend that none of this ever happened!"

Tanaka looked like he was turning it over in his mind, but the gun did not lower. David stepped forward. Jessica wanted to shake her head, get him to retreat, but she feared that even that small signal would alert the coach. She prayed that there were no squeaky floorboards or inconvenient cats running underfoot. "I don't know..."

"I'm sorry, Coach." Now Tanaka's attention was solely on Will Schuester. "I didn't... I didn't mean to come between you and Emma. I swear to God, I didn't."

"That doesn't matter," Tanaka rumbled. "Because she still loved you. And she thought she could be with me and forget you, but she never did. Never." Mr. Schuester looked like he didn't know how to react, but his eyes still flickered over Coach Tanaka's shoulder as David took another cautious step forward. "She made me think I could have something, and then she took it away. You _both_ took it—"

It was probably the rising of Tanaka's voice that caused David to act. He jumped forward, grabbing the coach over the shoulders and locking his arms back. Tanaka screamed and struggled, but between the age difference, the surprise, and his drunken state, he was unable to break free. Still, Jessica grabbed Kurt and Mr. Schuester and shoved them all to the floor as the gun shook and flailed.

With a grunt of effort, David twisted Coach Tanaka's arms until the others could almost hear tendons twisting. The coach screamed in pain, and the gun clattered to the floor. Only then did David drive his knee into the small of Tanaka's back, forcing him onto his face against the carpet.

"Someone grab that fucking gun!" David screamed as he practically sat atop the fallen man's back. Mr. Schuester jumped to his feet and scurried towards the gun. "You okay, Aunt Jessica?!"

"I'm fine, but... That was an _extremely_ foolish thing to do, David! You should've called the police instead of putting your life at risk!"

"And let them turn this into a fucking hostage situation? I couldn't let you—"

"This gun's plastic!" Everyone except Tanaka turned to Will Schuester, who was staring down the gun in his hands in shock. "It's a _toy_!"

Kurt groaned. David let go of the hysterical Tanaka's arms in disgust. Jessica breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

It took a good half hour for the police to arrive and get Jessica's blood pressure back to anything resembling normalcy. Coach Tanaka was in the back of a squad car, insisting he only wanted to scare Mr. Schuester; he would be sobered up and face whatever charges were appropriate. She stood on the Schuesters' porch, finishing giving her statement, when she realized that David and Kurt were nowhere to be seen.

She found them back in the living room, Kurt on the sofa and David in an easy chair, along with a paramedic packing up her things. As she left, Jessica was about to approach the boys when Kurt spoke. "That... that was..."

David nodded wearily in agreement. "The scariest fucking thing that's _ever_ happened to me in my life." Something about the atmosphere caused Jessica to press herself around the corner, into the shadows. "I think I'm still coming down from the adrenaline."

"Mrs. Fletcher was right, you know — that was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

"Hey, I had to make a decision," David snapped, "and I—"

"... But it was also incredibly brave."

David's jaw dropped. "R-really?" Kurt nodded. "B-but the gun wasn't even real..."

"We didn't know that. You didn't know that. As far as you knew, you were risking your life to save ours." He looked David straight in the eye. "Thank you. Thank you for helping me and Mr. Schuester. You've done a lot to my friends that I don't like, but I think you've shown that you're capable of being a better person, and... I hope to see more of that guy at McKinley in the future."

David ducked his head. "Shit..." When he raised it, he was beet red. "I don't... I don't need you to thank me..."

"I do, because you deserve it."

"It... I... Anyone would've done the same thing..." He was babbling and stammering and blushing and chuckling nervously and that put everything together for Jessica...

_"... Why, Frank Fletcher! Are you asking me out on a_ date _?"_

_"Kind of? Maybe? That sorta depends what you're gonna say. You don't have to say yes, really! I just... I just thought that you'd like to go see a movie... You know, as friends... if that's what you want... But if you didn't mind calling it a date, I sure wouldn't..."_

Ah. All right, then.

Everything made sense now.

* * *

Jessica was bone tired when she and David got home. They'd already agreed not to worry David's parents by mentioning this little... _episode_ , and she just wanted to get into a nice soothing warm bath and forget about her troubles and stresses for a while.

But first...

It didn't take much effort to get David to follow her to her room once more. Once the door was closed behind them, she immediately turned to him. "Are you all right?"

"Better, especially now that I know the gun was fake. But you were right, Aunt Jessica — that was kinda stupid, wasn't it? I guess I kind of panicked."

"Well, everything turned out for the best, I think."

"So does this mean Coach Tanaka killed Mr. Tomlin?"

Jessica frowned a little in thought; this was something she'd been pondering all through the drive back. "Not necessarily. But it doesn't mean he's innocent, either. I'd like to be sure."

"So you're going to go on investigating?" David said, a little sourly.

"Yes." She paused, trying to figure out if this was the best way to gently broach the subject. She was on the verge of putting it off to consider another tack, but shook her head. If she kept on delaying, she'd never find "the right time" or "the right way." Best to just do it, right now. "I heard you and Kurt talking." David's shoulders stiffened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But it sounds like the two of you have found some kind of... common ground?"

David sat on the chair again, resting his forearms on his legs, seemingly staring at the floor. "Yeah. I guess."

"I think you've shown him a bit of who you really are. I agree that it would be nice to see more of him in the future." She sat on the edge of the bed, also echoing her position from before. "Kurt is a nice boy."

"I suppose."

"What, you don't agree?"

David shrugged, eyes still on the floor. "He's kinda... weird."

"What's so odd about him?"

"You know."

"No, I don't. Tell me."

David snorted, his head rising a little. "I mean, look at him. The way he dresses, the way he talks."

"I think he dresses quite well, and I don't see anything wrong with the way he talks."

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean! He's obviously a f—" All the energy and emotion seemed to drain out of him, and his eyes returned to the floor again. "Sorry."

"A what, David?" she asked, innocently and gently.

"Everybody at school knows."

"Knows...?"

David raised his face once more; his eyes were blazing. "That he's _gay_ , all right?!"

"And what if he is?"

David's jaw dropped. "Wh-what?"

"And what if he is?"

The dropped jaw started working, trying to form words that weren't coming. "S-seriously...?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with being homosexual. I'm not the only one who thinks that. Your Grandma Kathy, for example..."

"What?!" David jumped to his feet, but quickly realized how he looked, sitting down again. "I... I mean, you live in a small town in Maine, and Mom thinks..."

Jessica nodded. "Well, your mother is more... devout than most in her family. I think she got it from her grandfather — your Grandpa Murray's father. Your Grandma Kathy is actually more... open to modern sensibilities. As for me... Well, I was always raised with a very strict sense of justice and equality. Besides, I've lived in New York for years, traveled the world, met so many interesting and wonderful people... I learned a long time ago that sometimes the old ways and old attitudes... may not be worth keeping. I think it's wonderful that Kurt's friends seem to accept him for who he really is. I think it's one of the best ways they can express how much they care about him." She fixed David with a look. "I like to think most people have that kind of support system, if they know where to look. For example, if your brother came out of the closet tomorrow, he'd always have my support. And your Grandma Kathy's. He'd never be alone."

Tears were squeezing out of David's tightly shut eyes now. He tried to laugh — it was half a laugh, half a sob. "If Jack was gay, he would've pranced outta the closet a long time ago."

Jessica got up, then knelt by David's chair. She wrapped her arms around him; in response, David leaned over, his face sinking into Jessica's shoulder. She could hear sobs muffled by her dress. "You are loved, David. You always will be. You don't have to be afraid, or pretend to be something you're not. Who you are now, whatever you are, is special enough, and it always has been."

"A-Aunt Jessica..." he whimpered. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"It's all right, David," she said soothingly, rubbing his back. "It's not too late, you know — to be yourself, to make up for the past. It's never too late."

"M-my mom..."

"Yes," Jessica sighed. "But I think that if I had a talk with her, she might be more willing to listen to reason. And if not... I know no one can replace your parents, but you will always have a home where you can be David — with Grandma Kathy, or with me. You are _loved_ ," she repeated, giving him a gentle shake, "and I think if anyone can make your mother see how special both her children are, it's me."

"I'm scared..."

"I know... But the future is a lot less scary when you have someone right beside you to help you face it. And you'll always have me and your grandmother — this I _promise_."

It took long, long minutes before the whimpers and sniffling subsided. David finally raised his reddened face, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, obviously struggling to regain a shred of masculine dignity. "Aunt Jessica..." He swallowed. "I... I think... I'm..."

"Now, now, don't say anything just because you think you have to. You have to take this at your own pace. Do it when you feel ready, and not a moment before. If you need to keep any secrets, well..." Her eyes twinkled. "My lips are sealed until you say otherwise. Until then, I'm here to talk, anytime. Do you understand?"

A shadow of that little boy Jessica had hosted in Cabot Cove passed across the teenager's face. He nodded. "I... um... Thank you, I..."

"Of course." The two embraced again, without so many tears this time.

Jessica had often felt the satisfaction of mysteries solved, but this one... She felt like this one was one of her most important yet.

Thursday morning dawned, and it seemed to Jessica just a little brighter and sunnier than any she'd experienced yet in Lima.

David's eyes were red at the breakfast table that morning, but he still smiled gamely and chatted with Jessica and his oblivious parents. In his eyes were so many words unsaid that they were almost full length novels. Jessica tried to be as reassuring as she could, but could only wonder how much she was succeeding.

She'd considered trying to broach the subject with David on the drive to McKinley, but the atmosphere still felt a little... fragile. So she decided to allow David time to heal, emotionally. This wouldn't be the end of it, after all, no matter what happened next, and even her presence might be too much of a strain. Thus it was that David drove to McKinley alone, leaving Jessica at the Karofsky house to think over everything that had happened so far, and everything she knew, about both David and Mr. Tomlin, until early afternoon, when she called a cab.

When she arrived at McKinley High School, one car in particular in the lot caught her interest — it matched Tina's and Mercedes' description of Mrs. Tomlin's vehicle. "Interesting," she muttered to herself.

As she approached the doors of McKinley High School, she heard rapid patters of footsteps approaching her. She turned to see Matt Rutherford and Mike Chang hurrying towards her. "Mrs. Fletcher!" the former cried out excitedly. "I found out something!"

"Oh? Let's hear it!"

After a quick look around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, Matt said in a low voice, "Okay, this cost me _huge_ with Derek. I think I need to take up a collection or something..."

"Just tell her already!" Mike said impatiently, jabbing his friend in the side with his elbow.

"Okay, okay!" He turned back to Jessica. "I think I found out why the police took in Mr. Schue."

"Wonderful!" Jessica said.

"Derek's dad said that when they found the gun in the Dumpster, it was wrapped up in test papers from Mr. Schue's Spanish class!"

Jessica mentally digested the new information. "Really?"

"Yeah, the detective in charge thought the killer did it so the gun would be harder to find." The excited tension drained from Matt the moment the information was imparted. "So..." he began anxiously, "does that help?"

"I think we're close, boys," Jessica said; their faces brightened. "Not quite yet, though... Let's see what today brings."


	10. Chapter 10

McKinley High School was big enough that Jessica knew she'd have little chance to just randomly find Mrs. Tomlin. So she tapped into the resources she had: thirteen pairs of young eyes scattered throughout the school.

She was rewarded about half an hour later when Rachel Berry practically skipped up to her and said eagerly, "Mrs. Tomlin is in Ms. Witten's room!"

"Thank you, Rachel, good work." Jessica paused. "Don't you have class right now?"

"Oh, what use will literary criticism be on the stage?" Before Jessica could give her some very good ones, Rachel continued, "I have to go! The others have to know I succeeded! See you later!" She ran off, leaving Jessica to shake her head for a moment in wonder before proceeding to Ms. Witten's room.

As she knew from her earlier visit, this was one of Ms. Witten's free periods. As she approached the chemistry lab, she heard two female voices within.

"Are you sure?" That was Ms. Witten.

"Yes, I'm sure," Mrs. Tomlin's voice answered. "Why do you ask?"

"... No reason."

"Cecelia, what's going on? You've been acting strangely ever since Dan... Dan died. You didn't even come to see me at the house..."

"I told you, I was planning to this weekend."

"But I've known you for years, and—"

"It's..." A sigh. "It's fine, Beth. Look, you know Dan and I never really got along..."

"I noticed. Why is that?"

A pregnant pause. "It wouldn't do any good anymore."

"I... Yes... yes, you're probably right."

"Beth?"

"Yes?"

"Try your best to move on. I think you and I both know your life will be better now."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. To her (only) mild surprise, Mrs. Tomlin, when she spoke again, wasn't angry or reproving. More... resigned? "I think I need to go."

Jessica quickly hurried away from the door, turning the nearby corner. She listened as a pair of footsteps emerged from the room and started down the hallway — fortunately towards her. It took just a brief second for her to time her own steps accurately. She pretended to be startled as he came face to face with Beth Tomlin.

"Oh!"

"Mrs. Tomlin! I'm so sorry..."

"No, no, it's all right..."

"How are you holding up?"

Mrs. Tomlin sighed. "I'm doing my best. Dan's family is wonderful, but they're grieving too, and... Well, I think I'm starting to scab over a little, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," Jessica said sympathetically. "It was very hard when my husband died." She carefully considered a few options before saying, "I heard that you used to teach here at McKinley."

"Oh, yes, I did. It's how I met Dan, in fact."

"What did you teach?"

Mrs. Tomlin rubbed her swollen belly, likely an unconscious and nervous gesture. "History. My specialty was the Civil War. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just curious," Jessica said.

A hard look came over Mrs. Tomlin's face — the most energetic Jessica had ever seen the woman. "Yes, Cecelia Witten told me about your 'curiosity'."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry—"

"But you are. Dan wasn't your husband, Mrs. Fletcher, and you're not the police." She sighed. "If I answer your questions, will you leave me alone to grieve Dan in peace?"

"I assure you, Mrs. Tomlin, adding to your pain is the last thing I want to do. But your husband's death isn't your pain alone. An innocent man is unjustly under suspicion for his murder, and I think that needs to be cleared up." There was no response, so Jessica decided to start on the "easy" questions. "I understand you and Ms. Witten are friends."

"Yes. Yes, we are."

"For how long now?"

"A few years. We met here as first year teachers."

"I also understand that your husband had quite a bit of money."

An odd look came over Mrs. Tomlin's face, and her voice when she answered was faraway. Maybe she, on some level, was eager to share something that had been nagging at her for a long time. "He always said that he had good investments, but when I looked over his papers after he died, I couldn't find anything that would've explained how much he had."

"So you have no idea where his extra income was coming from?"

"No. I thought something was odd, but I could never put my finger on it. I always thought it had something to do with the phone calls he'd constantly get. He told me they were nothing, but..." She shook her head. "I let Dan have his secrets."

"Why did you come to McKinley on Friday?"

Mrs. Tomlin's eyes widened for a moment, but she answered, with a remarkably steady voice, "Why shouldn't I?"

"It seems quite coincidental, which makes me wonder if you mentioned it to the police..."

Her chin rose. "I know what you're fishing for, Mrs. Fletcher. Yes, I knew about Dan's... habits around women, especially other teachers." She sighed once more. "Considering how we met, and how he got me to marry him, it couldn't surprise me. But as long as he came home to me, I didn't mind... And he always did."

"You're a very understanding woman, Mrs. Tomlin."

She laughed bitterly. "Maybe. Or maybe I was just desperate. But Dan... He really did know how to make a woman feel special, like she was the only one in the world who mattered..." Mrs. Tomlin shook her head slowly, obviously lost to memory. "Anyway, we made a deal: it would stop once the baby was born. I knew he'd take it as his last chance to have one more fling. I guess I came here to... check up on him. Because I couldn't stand wondering anymore."

"And did you find out anything?"

"No. I realized that I didn't really want to know — that wondering was better. So I left around 1 or so, after your presentation. And I didn't come back," she added, glaring at Jessica. "I didn't even talk to him. I doubt he even realized I was there."

"So you have no idea of the names of anyone here who was... close to your husband?"

"No. Like I said, it's not something I wanted to know a lot about."

"So you never thought someone you already knew from McKinley...?"

"I didn't speculate." Mrs. Tomlin straightened her back. "Are you done with your interrogation, Mrs. Fletcher? I have funeral arrangements to finalize."

"Of course. I'm sorry to have kept you." She stepped aside and watched thoughtfully as Mrs. Tomlin passed, disappearing down the hall.

* * *

Just as Jessica turned the corner, principal's office finally in sight, Emma Pillsbury emerged from the very place Jessica was headed. Their eyes immediately met.

"Oh! Mrs. Fletcher!" Ms. Pillsbury hurried up to Jessica. "What a coincidence, I was just talking to Principal Figgins about you, so I'm glad I caught you." She took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize for what Ken did to you."

"No apologies needed. What happened wasn't your fault."

"But if I hadn't broken off the engagement..." Ms. Pillsbury's wide eyes became downcast; she bit her lower lip. "Though I think that was inevitable anyway..." She looked back up at Jessica. "Please understand: our relationship hadn't been... the best lately. What Ken did, it's not like him at all... I blame it on the alcohol, honestly."

"Yes, he indicated he'd been under a good deal of stress. I think he blamed Mr. Tomlin for much of it."

"You don't think...? No, no! I can't believe Ken would've killed Dan Tomlin, despite what he did to Will! There's a reason he used a toy gun — he just isn't the violent type!"

Though Ms. Pillsbury's sincere-sounding words clashed badly with the now indelible mental images Jessica had of Ken Tanaka, she decided that she still wasn't in a position to challenge them. "He seemed to care a great deal about you," Jessica said.

Ms. Pillsbury blushed. "Yes. I never doubted that, really. I just... took a while to realize that I didn't actually feel the same way about him, and that it was unfair to both of us to keep pretending. This whole crazy week..."

"It's been very hard for a lot of people, you included," Jessica said sympathetically.

Ms. Pillsbury nodded, seeming to miss the possible shades in the innocuous remark. "Yes, I think I need to sit down and figure out what I'm going to do now. With my life." She gasped. "Oh! That reminds me: how is that person you asked me about?"

"He..." Jessica paused to consider. "I think he knows that he has my support."

Ms. Pillsbury nodded again. "Good. That will help a lot, no matter what his problems are. I'm glad I could help."

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Pillsbury." With one last friendly nod, the two separated, leaving Jessica with her thoughts for a moment before she realized that she could easily have asked Ms. Pillsbury the question she had. Shaking her head at her scatterbrain, Jessica proceeded into the principal's office.

Principal Figgins was alone in his office; he immediately rose from his chair when Jessica entered. "Mrs. Fletcher! On behalf of McKinley High School, I apologize for Mr. Tanaka's inexcusable—!" He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "His employment here has been terminated, of course. For this school to be associated with such a... _disagreeable_ —!"

"It's fine, Principal Figgins. I don't blame you or the school." Figgins let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sure the board appreciates having someone here who cares so much about the school's reputation!"

"Of course! Not only do I have a duty to my students, my own position of course requires a certain concern. Rogue faculty is the last thing I or the board need..." His eyes widened as what he was saying started to sink in. "Not that...! Not that I had any reason to harm Mr. Tomlin...!"

"I didn't say you did," Jessica said.

"Coach Tanaka told me what Ms. Pillsbury said he did, but I didn't think there was anything I could do, and—!" He must have realized that he sounded even worse, because he babbled on, "After I left you at the auditorium, I came right here, to my office! I was at this desk from then until 3:30!"

"Principal, believe me, you don't have to—"

"I don't have any corroboration, of course, but I left my door open, so anyone passing in the hall must've seen me... Though I don't remember seeing anybody who could vouch for me, since Missy was already away..." A new sheen appeared on the principal's bald head. "I assure you, Mrs. Fletcher, I had nothing to do with—"

Jessica laughed warmly. "Don't worry, Principal Figgins. I just came here to ask you where the choir room is! I seem to have gotten turned around..."

"Oh!" Figgins almost literally deflated. "Down that hall over there, then take the second right. You can't miss it."

Jessica nodded. "Thank you." She left the sweating man standing there, staring out after her.

* * *

The final bell rang, so the halls were swarming with students desperate to leave. Jessica wended her way through them with an expert's ease, following the principal's directions to the choir room. As she'd hoped, David was already outside, waiting.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

David took a deep breath. "I... I think so."

"You don't have to do this now, you know."

"I think I kinda do. I mean, you're here, so..."

"And I always will be," Jessica said, gently touching David's arm. "I will be proud of you no matter what you decide."

David considered for a moment, then nodded. "Then let's do this."

The two entered the choir room. It was empty except for a single figure sitting on the risers. Kurt Hummel.

He looked up from his phone as the two entered. "Oh! Mrs. Fletcher! And..." His eyes flickered towards David. "Hi."

"Hi," David said in almost a gasp. Jessica touched his shoulder encouragingly. "Oh! Uh... I'm here to... to apologize. To Finn and Puck and Quinn. For what I did to them."

"I see," Kurt said carefully. "Well, lucky for you I'm here early then. I can help smooth things over for you."

"Yeah... yeah, that would be great." David looked around, almost desperately, as if searching for distraction. "So this is where you guys meet?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it," David said, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, why do you like the glee club so much? Especially with all the shit you get?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"... Yeah."

"Then..." Kurt mused. "It's a form of self-expression — one I usually don't get in my life. It's a way to show people what I'm thinking and feeling."

"But it's not like you wrote the songs yourself..."

"No, but there's a lot more to it: your song choice, the way you sing it, and the emotions you express when you do." A sly grin came over Kurt's face. "You should try it."

David actually literally recoiled. "No. No fucking way."

"If you really want to understand us — understand why Finn and Puck risked so much to be part of this group — I think this is the best way to do it."

"I think that's a marvelous idea," Jessica said. "I seem to remember your voice being very good."

"But I don't sing! I—"

"Oooh, the more I think about it, the more I like it! We simply _must_ do it!" Kurt sprang to his feet and approached David, who already looked like he was searching for a way to flee. "Get out your phone." Dead silence. "Well?" Finally, reluctantly, he drew it out of his pocket. "Unlock it for me and cue up your playlists." David glanced desperately at his aunt, who simply sat down in one of the empty chairs. He sighed, poked at his phone for a bit, then handed it to Kurt. He scrolled past a couple of screens, until... "Here's a good one. I know this one. And it looks like you've listened to it a lot too." He showed the screen to David. "This one sound good to you?"

"Well, I—"

"Good! Now, I don't play the guitar, but I should be able to work it out on the piano." He sat down at the piano and pressed the keys, forming a few tentative chords. "Ready?" He began to play a line Jessica didn't recognize. After a few bars, he stopped. "That was your cue," Kurt said to David, annoyed.

"I... Uh..." He was rooted to the spot, staring at both Jessica and Kurt almost desperately.

"Hm. Okay. How about this. Close your eyes." Once more, David looked Jessica's way; she merely nodded silently. With a deep sigh, he obeyed Kurt's order. "Now, you're all alone. There's nobody here. Just you and the music. Don't worry about how you sound. This isn't for me or Mrs. Fletcher, or anyone except you. Think about how it makes you feel. Think about what it expresses about you and your life. "

"What makes you think it makes me think anything?" David asked, his eyes still shut.

"You did. You're the one who listened to it that many times. Try again?"

David paused, then nodded. "Fine."

"All right, then." Kurt began playing the same lines once more. This time, however, David opened his mouth, and a few rickety words came out:

_In my place, in my place_   
_Were lines that I couldn't change_   
_I was lost, oh yeah..._

With each word, his voice grew slowly but steadily louder, stronger.

_I was lost, I was lost_   
_Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed_   
_I was lost, oh yeah..._

Kurt raised both his eyebrows, but continued playing. Jessica nodded, smiling to herself.

_Yeah, how long must you wait for it?_   
_Yeah, how long must you pay for it?_   
_Yeah, how long must you wait for it, oh, for it?_

As Kurt reached the next bridge, the doors to the choir room clicked open. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana entered; they froze dead the instant they saw who was there. But David didn't seem to hear them. He just went on singing.

_I was scared, I was scared_   
_Tired and underprepared..._

One by one, two by two, the remaining glee club members entered the choir room. Each one stopped dead just inside the room at what they saw and heard within. But by now, David was too lost — lost in the song and whatever he was thinking and feeling — to notice.

_But I'll wait for it..._

There was more force in David's voice than ever now. The eleven teenagers stepped forward, almost as one, as if drawn by what they were hearing. When they began to sing along, low and in harmony, Jessica saw Kurt wince, but not even this could snap David out of it.

_Yeah, how long must you wait for it?_   
_Yeah, how long must you pay for it?_

The last one in was Mr. Schuester. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again. Unlike the students, he didn't approach, hanging back as the glee club members formed a line behind the ignorant David, who infused so much force into the next lines that it was doubtful he could've heard anything if he wanted to.

_Come on and sing it out, now, now..._   
_Come on and sing it out to me, me..._

As if on cue, the others dropped out, leaving only David and the piano.

_In my place, in my place_   
_Were lines that I couldn't change_   
_And I was lost, oh yeah..._   
_Oh yeah..._

David stood there, eyes closed, long after the last note ended, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath. Finally, he slowly opened his eyes.

"Holy shit... Yeah... Yeah, I think I get it now. I—"

It was then he became conscious of the other people around him. He jumped back like a jackrabbit, gasping.

None of the members of New Directions said anything, though — just stared at David. Until Rachel took a tentative step forward.

"You... You're a baritone, aren't you?"

Kurt leaped to his feet, the legs of the piano bench groaning against the floor. "Rachel...!" he said warningly.

"Do you know how to dance?"

"Rachel, no!" Kurt interposed himself between Rachel and the still shell-shocked David. "This wasn't meant for you. Nobody deserves to have you hounding them. So just drop it, okay?" Silence. " _Okay_?!"

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll drop it." But the piercing, appraising look she cast over Kurt's shoulder at David left little doubt in Jessica's mind that she would _not_ be 'dropping it'.

Jessica stood and cleared her throat.

"Oh. Oh, yeah." He took a hesitant step towards the center of the group, which held Finn, Puck, and Quinn. "I... I'm sorry, you guys. For Slushying you. I... I was a real asshole to you, and it's not gonna happen again if I can help it — not to anyone. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Mr. Schuester was still watching this scene with a wide eyed, almost comic look of complete bewilderment.

Finally, Finn's hand rose. It extended silently into the space between him and David, waiting. David looked down at it dumbly, but finally, he reached out and took it. The instant the two shook, it was as though a balloon had been pricked. Puck was the next David approached, then Quinn. Though with more initial reluctance, both also took David's handshake.

"Wow," Santana drawled, her voice almost echoing in the silence it broke, "how afterschool special is _this_?"

"I thought it was kinda sweet," Brittany said musingly.

"Seriously?"

"I have no idea what's going on," Artie said, holding up his hands, "and I'm not even gonna ask."

"You're serious?" Tina said. "You'll leave everyone in the glee club alone now?"

David nodded. "Yeah," he said through a dry throat.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Mercedes muttered.

"Well, if it helps, I'll vouch for him," Jessica said.

"Dude..." Mike said with a touch of wonder. "You were pretty good, you know."

"Whatever," David said, reddening.

"I was just demonstrating the power of song to him," Kurt said airily.

"So you're okay with him now?" Matt said.

"I am."

"Not surprised, with what happened last night," Quinn remarked.

Kurt groaned. "Oh, God, does _everyone_ know exactly what happened now?"

"Yes, of course."

"Man, Coach..." Puck shook his head. "I didn't think he'd do something like that, and I've done a _lot_ of stupid shit drunk."

"Oh, yeah," David said, a small smile finally cracking his face. "Like that time you did that lap dance for George Peyton..."

"Hey!" Puck yelped. "How the hell do you know about that? You weren't even there!"

"Like Quinn said, rumors. Duh."

"Some people I know better than they know themselves," Santana said with a sly grin, making sure to look each of her fellow students in the eye at least once.

"Not that I'd know," Kurt said snottily. "I for one don't pay attention to—"

"Shut up! Everyone, shut up!" David roared. Many of those present glared at him, but the glares quickly faded when David looked towards Jessica. She was standing there with her mouth open, staring into space.

"Mrs. Fletcher...?" Finn asked tentatively.

"Aunt Jessica, is something wrong...?"

Snapped out of her trance, Jessica shut her mouth, and said urgently, "Kids... I think I know who killed Mr. Tomlin."

Instantly, everyone crowded around her.

"You do?!"

"Who is it?"

"Yeah, c'mon, who—"

Jessica raised her hands. "Just a moment, just a moment. I need to gather my thoughts..." The teenagers waited, with bated breath; even Mr. Schuester drew closer in interest. Jessica pondered, then nodded to herself. "All right. Here's how we're going to do this..."


	11. Chapter 11

"Uh, guys... We really do need some rehearsal time..."

Mr. Schuester's protests were halfhearted; he seemed just as interested in Kurt's cell phone, sitting atop the piano, as the teenagers gathered around it. Of course, he had more at stake than most.

Jessica had known that she probably wouldn't be able to get away with keeping the group out of the loop entirely, so she suggested a reasonable compromise: she had David's cell phone in her purse, with a call made to Kurt's. That way, they could hear without being around.

"Now, I'm not certain that what I'm planning will work, or even if the person I suspect is still here," Jessica had said before she left them, "but no matter what, all of you need to remember the seriousness of the situation, and to treat it with the respect it deserves."

"Who do you think it is?" Puck asked David, who was standing next to him.

"How the hell should I know?"

"She's your aunt."

"She hasn't told me anything."

"Shh!" Kurt hissed. "She's saying something!"

"Ah, good, you're still here!" Jessica's voice rang out clearly from the phone.

"Mrs. Fletcher!" a hearty voice answered.

"That's Figgins!" Tina gasped.

"Shh!"

* * *

Principal Figgins was at his desk, with Missy standing next to him, her hand frozen in midair as she was offering a piece of paper to him.

"Hi, Mrs. Fletcher," Missy said with a nod.

"We're a little busy right now," Figgins said, "and we want to finish this so we can go home, so if this can wait until tomorrow..."

"I just wanted to ask you a question, Principal," Jessica said. "If a faculty member has a file cabinet in their room, that cabinet would be owned by the school, correct?"

Figgins frowned. "Yes, generally, but why do you—"

"And as such, the school would retain keys to that cabinet if it had a lock?"

"Of course. I have a set of keys for all the locks in this school."

"That's sort of a strange question, Mrs. Fletcher," Missy said.

_The listeners around the piano seemed to agree, exchanging confused looks._

"Well, it's something that occurred to me recently. You see, the reason the police suspected Mr. Schuester had involvement in Mr. Tomlin's murder was because they found the gun used to kill him wrapped in papers belonging to him." The mention of "Mr. Tomlin" and "murder" instantly snapped both of the other people in the room to attention. "But Mr. Schuester keeps his locked in a filing cabinet."

"Mrs. Fletcher..." Principal Figgins said in a strained voice, "exactly what are you saying?"

"Which of course brings up another question," Jessica continued. "It emphasizes the idea that whoever disposed of that gun deliberately wanted to frame Mr. Schuester for the crime."

_Several of the glee club members glanced at Mr. Schue. He was distinctly blanched — perhaps thinking of how close he came to being charged with murder._

"The problem there is that Mr. Schuester himself announced a special rehearsal of the glee club at my presentation. Anyone hearing that would have to have known that he'd most likely have a rock solid alibi. And almost everyone who might've been suspects in Mr. Tomlin's murder were at that presentation, including Mrs. Tomlin."

Missy gasped. "P-principal... Didn't you say you couldn't go to Mrs. Fletcher's talk?"

_The choir room went stock still._

Figgins tried to say something, but all that came out was a high pitched squeak. Finally, he managed to spit out some words. "Y-yes, but...!" He turned to Jessica, eyes wide and wild. "But I knew about the rehearsal too! I was with you when William first suggested it! You remember that, don't you? I was there!"

"Yes, you were, Principal." Jessica turned. "But you weren't there, Missy. So you wouldn't have known about the rehearsal that afternoon. And as you demonstrated to me last week, you have free reign of Principal Figgins' office. I wouldn't be surprised if you have a set of keys all for yourself."

Figgins' jaw dropped. "Mrs. Fletcher...?"

"Are you saying... I had something to do with Mr. Tomlin's death?" Missy rasped, her face chalk white.

"Actually, _you_ told me that."

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"Remember when we first met on Friday? You had a copy of my first novel that you wanted me to sign for your mother's birthday. After I signed it, Principal Figgins walked into the room, so you put the book down on the desk so you could discuss work. Later, you left for your dental appointment, but you left the book on the desk; in the excitement over the confrontation with Coach Tanaka, we forgot all about it.

"But then on Tuesday, when I asked you about giving your mother the book, do you remember what you said?"

_"Yes — yes, I did! She loved it. Everyone at the party was so impressed!"_

"You told me yourself that party was on Sunday. So that raises the question: when did you return to retrieve the book, Missy? The police closed the school for the entire weekend. That book places you here, at McKinley, during the period in which Mr. Tomlin was murdered."

It took a second for Missy's throat to form words. "I... I came back after my dentist's appointment, before school ended."

"Impossible," Figgins whispered. "I would've seen you."

"Then I must've been mistaken about when I gave Mom the book!"

"That will be easy enough to check," Jessica said.

"I..." Missy swallowed. "That's not proof! You can't _prove_ I did anything!"

"Maybe not now, but if the police were to focus on you, how long do you think it'll take them to find records of you owning a .22? How sure are you that you cleaned any blood and gunshot residue off of your hands, your clothes, your car... the book?"

Missy's lips moved, but nothing came out. She staggered backwards, sinking into one of the visitor's chairs.

"Missy!" Figgins gasped, staring at his secretary in shock and horror. "Why?!"

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen!" she said, her throat choked.

"Unless I miss my guess, you cared for Mr. Tomlin very much, didn't you?" Jessica said gently.

Missy nodded. "He... he was the only man who's ever made me feel special. I... I thought I'd be alone forever, but he... He wanted _me_..."

"Why don't you tell us what happened?"

Missy gulped, her hands clutching at each other. "Late afternoon, I realized that I'd forgotten the book on my desk, so I came back to get it. While I was in the office, I figured I'd peek into the teacher's lounge to check if there was coffee for Monday, so I grabbed my keys. On the way, I passed by Dan's room, and I saw he was there. He'd been avoiding me for days, so I decided that this was my chance to talk to him.

"I told him again how much I loved him. I told him I didn't care if I was the other woman, if he'd just be with me. But he said he made a promise to his wife, and he acted like he just didn't _care_ and I said that I'd do anything and he just patted me on the head like I was some kind of child. I said I'd be a much better wife than Beth could ever be and he started... He started _laughing._ Why did he laugh? I loved him and he was _laughing_ at me and I had to make him _stop_...

"I had the gun in my purse for protection. I took it out. I... I don't know what I was going to do. I think I wanted to scare him, or maybe I was going to threaten to... I don't know. But as soon as he saw it, his eyes went wide and he started talking to me... Telling me everything I'd ever hoped he'd say to me — how much he cared for me, and how he didn't want to see me hurt. He was so gentle and loving, just like how I remembered...

"But then he grabbed for the gun. We struggled. It went off — it was so loud, and Dan just sank to the floor and..."

_Quinn grabbed for Finn's arm — as did Rachel, on the other side of him. Nobody noticed this. They were too focused on what they were hearing._

"I... I was so afraid. I thought someone might hear the gunshot, so I ran. I ducked into Mr. Schuester's room. All I could think about was Dan laying there and how I had to get rid of the gun... Then I remembered Coach Tanaka complaining to Principal Figgins. I knew Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury... liked each other. I saw how they looked at each other in the teacher's lounge. I got out my keys and unlocked his filing cabinet, and I wrapped the gun in some of his papers. When I was sure the hall was empty, I threw it in a Dumpster and left..."

Principal Figgins hadn't moved an inch since she started talking. He just stared at her.

"I know it was wrong, but I was so scared!" Missy wailed. "I'm so sorry, I..."

She dissolved into hysterical tears. Principal Figgins stepped forward, but his hand hesitated in midair. His look to Jessica bore words plainly: _What should I do?_ She wished she had an answer for him.

Jessica shook her head sadly.

_The glee club listened to Missy's tears in silence._

"I can't believe you're leaving on Sunday, Aunt Jessica," Debra said regretfully.

"Well, I've imposed on your hospitality for long enough. Besides, I have a book tour to finish."

"At least we have one last weekend together. Hopefully you'll _finally_ get the rest you need."

Jessica laughed. "I hope so too! I certainly learned more about Lima than I ever thought I would!" She looked around the living room. "Where is David, by the way? The McKinley High School glee club insisted on throwing me a going-away party tonight, and I wanted to ask him when we're leaving."

"He's out on the porch. He's talking with... a friend of his?"

The slight frown on Debra's face put Jessica on alert. "Friend?"

"Yeah, it's that boy who drove you here sometimes. I think his name was Carl, or...?" Debra watched in mild confusion as Jessica sprang to her feet. Normally, she wouldn't have intruded like this, but she had to know...

She peeked carefully out one of the windows. David and Kurt were sitting on the porch. David's lips were moving; although she couldn't make out a word he said, Kurt's ever widening eyes stirred hope in her.

David ended whatever he was saying by holding his head in his hands, his back heaving with silent sobs. Kurt still looked stunned; it took him a second to awkwardly reach out and give him a pat on the shoulder.

After a long few minutes, David's tear-streaked face rose. That was when he noticed — or maybe somehow sensed — Jessica's presence in the window. He looked straight at her, Kurt following his gaze. Jessica had no idea what she said with her own expression, but after a long while, David gave her a small, silent nod.

That was when Jessica turned away from the window, towards the daughter of her dear friend. "Debra," she said gently, "I think we need to have a talk."


End file.
